The Doctor's Son
by Lyralamora
Summary: Being the great Dr. Cid's son is not always easy. As Judge Bunansa, Ffamran has to fight to make a name for himself. This is a story about politics, Vieras and how an infatuated, confused Ffamran develops into the leading man.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This fic will deal with the suspicious circumstances around Balthier's past, and how he evanesce from judge to pirate. It includes politics, romance and one infatuated, confused eighteen year-old Ffamran Bunansa.

If that sounds good then read on, and I hope you enjoy my very first ff-fic.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Final Fantasy XII. It is the property of Square Enix.

Part 1

The armour was heavy. Too heavy. How did they all do it, trotting around in them all day long, never loosing appearances?

Ffamran lifted his gaze and turned around to admire his dashing reflection. There was no denying that he looked striking as always. The black cloak with the read ornaments, the intricate patterns engraved in the metal and the death bringing weapons made him look like a man of consequence, in addition to being uncommonly handsome. He shook of one of the heavy gloves and caught a strand of his sand brown hair on stray. Too bad he would have to wear that helmet. No way to show off his face and it would make him look a tad impersonal, but at least no less consequential. Besides, no one cold tell his age that way.

A judge at eighteen. No one had lost out on the opportunity of telling him what a tremendous accomplishment that was, but of course that was empty words. Every one as well as himself knew that the only reason he was wearing this armour was because of his father. All his life he had lived on the fringe benefits of having such a father, and that did not seem like it was about to change, even now, when he was an adult. Well, that certainly took away some of the pressure.

When he had gawked his fill, there was nothing to do but wait, and as he began pacing back and forth, while a sudden nervousness began to grip. He stopped by the large windows that filled the better half of the south facing wall. The grandeur and beauty of Archades was never more striking than from above. But, though his eyes where fixed on the town below, he saw nothing. Through the pulsing nervousness he felt a stab of irritation at himself. When there where no expectations, there was no way he could fail.

A muffled knock sounded through the thick oak door. Balthier grabbed his gloves and took a deep breath. First day at work.

***

To become a judge was for many Archadens their life ambition. And with the pay and status the job offered, who could blame them? But with all the requirements it demanded very few made the cut. In addition to having the right social status, a thorough knowledge of the law and military, it also had physical requirements. Embarrassing as it was, it was the latter that had proven to be Ffamran's biggest challenge. He was of slight build, and though he's agility had always been remarkable, he was unfit to wield a sword. As it turned out, he was also unfit to wear armour. He had come no longer than down the steps and out in the colossal foyer, before he got weary. The scolding sunlight outside did nothing to lessen his suffering. In the residential area, where he lived with his father (or rather; where he lived in his fathers house) there where not permitted traffic, so he had to walk. The heavy cloak did not flutter stylishly behind him in the breeze like he'd imagined, because there where no such thing on this hot summer day. The helmet did give some shade, but not enough to compensate for the heat inside it. He soon worked up an admirable amount of perspiration, gluing his hair to his forehead. Luckily the walk was mercifully short, because the judge's courtroom was placed the same exclusive area.

The courtroom was not actually the court, but a nickname for the judge's headquarters. It was also placed within short distance of the palace, which Ffamran could see towering up behind the grand building in front of him. Like the other buildings in this district, it where older than most of the archadian buildings. It was the oldest part of town, built even before Old Archades, and in a rather different style. After a brief glance at the palace above, he hurried into the shade, certain that a few more seconds in the sun would be enough to dehydrate him completely.

The nervousness, that had evaporated due to the heat, struck once again with full force the moment he was out of the sun and under the colonnade that covered the front of the building. The grand metal doors were guarded by two soldiers. With as much dignity he could muster he squared his shoulders and attempted to enter. The solider scurried aside making way, and the feeling of power that flowed trough him at that moment was immense. Glad no one could see his satisfactory grin he entered the courtroom.

"Right, right, the doctor's son," the stout man behind the desk said distantly without looking up from the large pile of papers in front of him. Ffamran was ever so provoked by the lowly clerk's frivolous attitude and lack of respect.

"Actually, it's Judge Bunansa," he replied in his most arrogant tone, which was perfected from many years of practice.

"Yeah, yeah."

Thought Ffamran was struck by the fellows lacking vocabulary and was tempted to comment on it, he kept silent and waited for further instructions. But the clerk took his good time.

"Special accent you have there," he babbled on. But Ffamrans impatience must have been visible, even with the helmet, so he continued. "Just go right in the door behind me. There you'll be assigned a mentor of sorts, to show you the ropes."

Ffamrans gaze followed the direction of the clerks waving hand, and followed the implied direction towards the double doors in the far end of the hall. He began to make his way across the room, but no more than two noisy steps later he was stopped by a light touch on his arm.

"The doctor's son," a female voice sounded through her mask, an enormous metal construction that made him quite thankful for the design of his own. He sighed for himself. Was that to be his brand?

"Judge Bunansa," he answered and respectfully offered his hand.

"Judge Drace. Nice to make you're acquaintance. I believe you are to follow me."

He was immediately repulsed by her short (and in his opinion) offensive way of addressing him. But once again he held his tongue and followed the woman, Drace.

"So, I hear they're making you my new protégée," she said without slowing her pace.

"Protégée?" was Ffamrans rather obtuse answer.

"Yes, protégée. Did you not know; all assigned to Executive have a mentor."

The judges were all divided into three branches. Military, Legislative and Executive. He was apparently included in the latter.

"I do now."

They entered her office, where she removed her helmet after closing the door. Ffamran copied her, and drew a large gulp of refreshing air. Afterwards he placed it on the large mahogany desk and looked up to find that behind the mask, this woman was not much of a beauty, but with a strict face and cold eyes. They were currently fixed at him in an assessive way.

"Sit," she finally ordered. He immediately obliged (so much for the feeling of power).

"Now, there is really not much to do here at the moment, and I think you should start with a simple job," she paused as she pulled out a drawer and fetched something from inside.

"So here is some paperwork," she handed him the folder.

The dread when you realize that you've got something completely wrong, when a sudden realization crushes all your former ideas, now consumed Ffamran as he stretched out his arm for the paper. Paperwork! After all those months of training, and then he would do paperwork. But once again, the cold eyes were impossible to defy. As he cursed his father for arranging the job, a knock on the door interrupted his attempt to fetch the paper. A young man strode into the room without waiting for a reply. Not even greeting he stormed up to Drace and whispered out of breath:

"It has happened. Vayne; he took them both."

Drace rose in alarm, her face betraying emotion for the first time.

"And Larsa? Is he safe?"

"I- I believe so," the man stuttered.

Drace sunk back into her seat and breathed a sigh of relief, while Ffamran tried to make out the meaning of their words.

"What was the excuse?" Drace inquired.

"I'm not certain. The news just reached me."

"What's going on?" Ffamran asked, endeavouring not to reveal the burning curiosity behind his nonchalance. Drace ignored him.

"Who else knows?"

"I have no idea. I reported here immediately after the occurrence. But I know judge Bergan was in the palace at the time.

"What's going on?" Ffamran asked again, this time not even attempting to hide his curiosity and growing frustration.

"Who's he?" the messenger asked and tilted his head towards him.

"Just the doctor's son. Bergan, really?"

"Yes, I think he had a report from Draklor laboratory. Dr. Bunansa's son?"

"Yes. Judge Bunansa," Ffamran interrupted. "Now please, what's going on? I'm as much a judge as anyone in this room, and more than some (with a reproachful glance at the young man) and I demand you tell me what's going on!"

"Oh, I'll tell you what's going on. I'll tell you before someone comes and tell you differently," Drace spitted in fury. "Vayne Solidor just murdered his brothers."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **So, I realize that there is another ongoing fic about exactly the same thing. So bad timing on my part, I guess. However, no mind is the same, and I'm sure the outcome will be very different.

If anyone reads this, please review. Comments would certainly be motivating (be they positive or not, as long as they are constructive).

So, hope you enjoy the second part :D

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Square Enix. But the words are all mine.

Part 2

The only thing that could have made Ffamran run faster was the sight of the light shining through the windows in his fathers study. Even though he despised himself for it, he could not help the eager, expectant feeling that arose on the rare occasions that his father left the laboratory. Hoping for some praise or even just a friendly conversation, he felt he was too old to crave such things. But no matter. He couldn't help how he felt.

The armour made it almost impossible to move at any considerable speed, but indeed he did his best. As he approached the manor at a glacial pace, he gave himself some time to reflect upon today's events.

Who would have thought Vayne capable of something like that? The man had never come across as sympathetic in any way, but killing your own brothers was a bit over the top. Of course, Ffamran was not acquainted with either of the emperor's sons. There could be a reasonable explanation. But he had to admit that even though Judge Drace was disappointingly plain, she had made a convincing show. And now he could not wait to tell his father. Maybe he knew something. After all, he did pay regular visits to the palace.

Once inside he did not waist any time with changing. He simply pulled off the helmet and threw it in the closest corner, then proceeded to the wide staircase. Too tired to run he attempted more of a slow trot, but it was too inelegant for his dignity to bear, and had to settle with a pace. He had not worn the armour for more than one day, and yet he had already decided that once his judging days were over he would never wear one again.

The quivering metal revealed his entrée, and when he at last stormed into the room, his father was halfway across it to inspect the cause of disruption.

"Ffamran!" he cried out in surprise. It was not custom in this household for the son to enter the fathers study. "What are you doing here?" was his reproachful inquiry.

"Father," Ffamran began in his usual arrogant tone, as if it came completely involuntarily. "Have you heard? About Vayne, I mean," he then continued in a slightly more respectful manner.

"This better be important! Whatever possessed you to make such a racket?" he demanded.

"I heard it at work. In the courtroom." He added this little detail in the hopes that his father would be reminded what day it was. "Vayne. He has murdered his brothers, father. The two eldest, but not Larsa."

Dr. Cid looked immensely annoyed with his offspring. To emphasize this he simply turned around and made his way back to his desk and the books that waited there.

"Now really, Ffamran?" he said, irony coating every word. "It is true that Solidor's oldest sons were executed, but whatever gave you the absurd idea that Vayne was responsible?"

"Executed? Why? What for? By whom where they convicted?" Ffamran said, trying to keep his voice calm and steady.

"They where traitors, exchanging military information to the Rozarians. When Vayne discovered this, he had them convicted," Cid answered as he reached his desk and sat down. He put on his spectacles and reached for his pen. After a moment of silent scribbling he added, "It's a tragedy to be sure, but Vayne did what was right for the Empire. How come you knew?"

"I'm a judge, father. We are the ones who make the convictions," Ffamran muttered, but without really paying attention.

So were it not true at all? Vayne had not killed his brothers. He had to admit that his father's explanation made a whole lot more sense. He could not, however, bring himself to side with Cid, be it only from a childish principle. For that reason alone he made his very best to find a flaw in this theory.

"Why on earth would the heir to the throne betray his own empire?" he asked, his voice aloof with contempt.

"Ffamran," Cid answered. "I have work to do. You never cared about such things before, why now?"

He put down his pen and replaced it with a stone-like object. Giving it a long, yearning look he seemed to have forgotten his son's presence for a moment. At last his thoughts returned from wherever they'd strayed to.

"Leave now. I have work to do."

Ffamran knew that objections where futile. They always were. When work was present, it was always top priority. He wanted so badly to be fine with that. He wanted to be the nonchalant man he always portrayed himself as, blind to other people's opinion. But if he had to be honest (it was hard, even for himself) he would like it if his father had cared as much for him as he did for that stone, or whatever this new obsession was.

***

At last out of the armour, he was standing in his room, shirtless while searching for something to wear. While going through the oversized closet he couldn't seem to find anything, despite the fact that it was filled to bursting point. In the end he found a black shirt that sat loosely, yet brought out his more muscular parts. He had to skip the tight leather pants that he had grown so fond of lately. They seemed unsuitable for a judge, so he chose another pair. Still black, but looser. After an approving look in the well used mirror he paced across the room, stopping by the window like he'd done only this morning. This time his eyes where drawn towards the overwhelming halls and towers that where the palace of Solidor. Inside that palace was the Emperor, probably staggered with grief, and his son who might or might not have murdered his brothers. It was hard to know who to side with, but luckily he knew he would not need to. His father would never want anything more of him than to be acknowledged and perhaps one day pick up his own research. But he needed not have an opinion. It would be preferred if he simply did as asked. And as far as Judge Drace went, she seemed to think of him as nothing more than the doctor's son, and neither sought his opinion nor wanted it. He could remain comfortably passive and needed not waste his thoughts on matters that exceeded his understanding.

***

Ffamran sank deeper down into the comfortable chair. He had considered the rug; it looked comfortable enough. But he reasoned that sitting more or less upright in a chair he would maintain some dignity if he should be seen.

Drace had summoned him some ten minutes ago, but had to leave and had asked him to wait for her to come back. So that's what he did. As he tended to his hangover, the woman from last night crept into his thoughts. Not the woman he had accompanied home. No, she was far to plain to make such an impression. There had been a creature by the bar. Strange and beautiful she was, with her moon pale, waist length hair and a tall and slender figure. But what had been most unnerving where her ears, that where long and furry. They quite resembled those of a rabbit. He had not spoken with her at all, but he could not get her out of his thoughts.

"Ahem," someone cleared their throat. "You are in my chair."

Ffamran opened his eyes to find a displeased Drace gazing down at him.

"Indeed I am," he retorted arrogantly before standing up with deliberately slow motions. Too slow in Drace's opinion, as she decided to pushed him the rest of the way.

"I have a task for you," she said. "And since you are under my mentorship you will do as asked, no questions, no refusals."

"What would you have me do?" he asked in earnest curiosity.

"You will," she said as she stood up, "help me in my investigations, by finding out exactly what Judge Bergan, Dr. Cid and Vayne are doing in that laboratory. What kind of weapon research is going on? "

"You want me to spy on my father?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes," she answered with a frankness he couldn't help but admire. "You will find out what's going on at Draklor. Every little detail. And you will report directly to me." Then she sighed and her expression changed to one of compassion. "I know he's your father, and that this is a loyalty conflict. But I'm asking you to do what is right!"

It was in that moment he truly understood how detached he and his father had grown. That he actually considered betraying his own father. Not just considering either.

"That won't be a problem," he answered, knowing he spoke the truth. "But how do you want it done? Shall I pretend to take part in his work? I can't guarantee he will permit me. At least not with the works you're interested in. I could simply be delegated something completely uninteresting."

"Hm …" Drace pondered, sinking down in the chair he'd just vacated. "It would certainly be best if you were included. But we need to get a general idea of what's going on. Otherwise you won't know what to look for. I think if you snooped a little around, gathered some information. Then we take it from there."

Ffamran nodded, not sure how eager he should be, and decided to take his leave.

"Oh, and Ffamran," she called after him, just as he was about to open the door. "This is something you do for me personally. The system … is not as just as I would prefer it. Some would even question our right to use the word judge at all. We could possibly be charged with treason, should someone find out."

At the flicker of doubt that crossed his face, she rose and met him by the door. She put a gloved hand on his shoulder.

"I am asking you, not only because you're the doctor's son, but because I believe you to be more than that."

***

Draklor was deserted as this time of night, but the guards stayed in place. This was no problem for a judge and the son of Cid himself. For once he was happy to have that advantage. The multitude of airships that swarmed the Archadian sky filled the air with smoke that remained in their wake. It was not possible to see the stars from this part of town, witch was a pity. They always had a calming effect on him.

He strode past the Imperial guards, who saluted in respect. The power, however small, was intoxicating.

But passing the guards was the easy part. Once inside, he had no idea were to go. He'd use to come here pretty often as a child, but as he got older, he lost interest. The memories of happier times brought with it certain uneasiness.

The vast web of halls were confusing, but if he could find his fathers office, there would surly be something of interest there. And if he knew his father right, it would be on the top floor. To the elevator then!

With smooth, swift motions, the elevator shoot up the building and came to a halt with a loud _pling_ on the top floor. The doors opened to reveal the room on the other side.

He had been right, it was the correct room. But why in all of Ivalice where _she_ there? Why was the woman with the moon pale hair standing by his father's desk? And last but not least, why did she have an arrow pointed at his chest?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Here you go, the third chapter. Hope you enjoy!

I must thank fluidstatic for doing such a wonderful job as a beta!

**Disclamer:** Sadly, I do not own Final Fantasy XII.

Part 3

It was an odd feeling, one that Balthier had never experienced before. Despite his armour he felt exposed - almost naked - but his mind was completely clear. He had often been warned that it was difficult to keep composed in these kinds of situations, and he felt a rush of pride.

To be sure, the intruder did not look so very dangerous. She was only a young woman; beautiful, but not likely to be lethal. He relaxed a little and let his eyes wander, from her face and down her body. The sight of her clouded his mind, much more so than the bow in her hands. If Ffamran felt naked, she virtually was. All that covered her was a scant amount of black fabric wrapped round her in strategic places, with a transparent cloth over her stomach. He gawked at her openly until she started speaking; only then he managed to recollect his thoughts.

"Step back, hume, and let me pass." Her voice was grave and low, with an accent he couldn't place.

"Certainly," he replied. Ffamran could not hold back a satisfied smile. Beautiful women always had this effect on him, even when armed. He made way with an elegant bow, and she strode past, turning carefully, her bow and arrow still trained on him.

As she did, his eyes fell on the leather bag tied to her waist. She was a thief, and he'd nearly let her walk out with her loot. Not a light slip to make on one's first day at work. He had to force himself to sound confident as he moved to restrain her, hoping his sharp tone would cover for his shaking hands as he tried to figure out how to manoeuvre past her weapon.

"Stop right there."

She looked at him in disbelief.

"May I remind you, Your Honour..." - the last word came out in a tone that closely resembled hatred - "...that you are the one with an arrow pointed at your chest?"

How infuriatingly true it was.

Ffamran had, however, fulfilled the physical demands that were required to become a judge, and at last his training kicked in. His right hand flew to the hilt of his sword, and his left arm shot forward, knocking bow and arrow out of the woman's hands. Now situations were reversed, and his sword rested lightly on the woman's exposed throat.

Ffamran's smirk broke into a genuine smile of pride at finding the upper hand.

"It appears that you have something against Judges," He drawled, his voice thick with triumph and arrogance. "But may I remind you that you are nothing but a lowly thief?"

"Better a lowly thief than a common assassin," she retorted.

Lost in the bliss of having finally done something he felt worthwhile, her words did not touch him. He roughly pulled her hands behind her back in a manner that he thought suitable for an arrest.

As he tied the woman up, a thought struck him. There were plenty of places the thief could have gone with more valuables, and certainly easier access...

"What business have you here? Are you some sort of Rozzarian spy?"

She gave him a cold look, as if deathly offended.

"I am certainly not in the employ of Humes," she spat.

"We'll see about that," he said coolly, and began pushing her back towards the elevator. She walked ahead of him without complaint, her high heels making a clacking sound against the tile, her head held high with pride.

In the elevator they stood in an uncomfortable silence, and Ffamran was for the first time aware of her fearlessness and calm. It was a relief when the doors opened once more.

The imperial guards posted on either side of the elevator yelped in surprise.

"It would seem," Ffamran began contemptuously, "that Judges are not the only ones you let through."

"No! Not at all, Your Honour," the closest exclaimed. "I swear we've never seen the creature before. She must have snuck in."

Even though the helmet concealed his face, he could not resist raising one of his eyebrows in a doubtful curve.

"You," he addressed the man who had spoken up. "Make directly for the courtroom. Inform the courts that an intruder has been apprehended at Draklor, and that I am escorting the prisoner to the interrogation quarters personally."

"Sir… yes, sir!" the guard sputtered obediently, and all but ran for the door.

"You," Ffamran turned to the other guard, and was pleased to find a terrified expression on the fellow's face. "Do your job for once, won't you? See to it that the entrance is actually guarded."

Too frightened to speak, the imperial nodded eagerly, though Ffamran surmised he was raging inside.

"And you, thief, come with me."

He could not help himself. Safe in the darkness of his helm, his self-satisfied smirk broke into a full grin of delight as he grabbed the creature's arm and guided her with as much authority as he could summon.

* * *

The informant Ffamran had summoned from Gabranth's unit had surprising news.

"She's a Viera. They live in the forests of Kerwon, I am told, and are very rarely found outside them. To find her here is quite unusual indeed."

Ffamran blinked. "A Viera?"

Ffamran peeked through the little window into the cell where he had placed his very first prisoner. The informant lurked directly behind him, peering with interest over his shoulder. Another imperial guard stood by the door. Did they ever get tired of just standing about and… well, guarding?

"Shall I schedule for an execution?" the guard asked.

Ffamran spun on his heel, alarmed at the very thought.

"My good man," he replied. "She hasn't even been questioned yet!"

The guard blinked in confusion. "With respect, sir, most judges don't bother with that sort of thing in cases like these. It's not considered necessary, seeing as she'll be executed anyway."

Ffamran was shocked to the core, and very grateful for the anonymity of his helm. Unable to think of an appropriately authoritative comeback, he opted to pretend to ignore the guard.

"I will question the prisoner. Leave now, and see to it that I am not disturbed."

The soldier saluted and left the room, the informant on his heels.

Once he was certain he was quite alone, Ffamran turned and wrenched open the cell door. Perhaps it was his need to do the opposite of everyone else, or perhaps it was the guard's remark that finally made him realise what Drace and the prisoner had meant by their cryptic remarks.

_"Better a lowly thief than a common assassin."_

The guard did have a point. The prisoner would die anyway; was there any point of extending the process? It would have to be, regrettably. The law demanded as such, and as a judge he would be remiss if he did not enforce it. But now Ffamran saw his prisoner as a victim of the system, and his resolve to judge the creature evaporated.

She sat very still, eyes closed. Her tall, lean figure was held straight, but not rigid. Her face seemed expressionless, but was far from empty.

Ffamran was about to order her into the next room when she stood up and moved toward the door. Without being ordered she followed him into the interrogation room and took her seat on a hard metal chair at the table, without prompting. Ffamran took the chair opposite her and folded his hands.

"Your name?" he asked.

"Take off your helmet," she answered in that hoarse, mysterious voice.

He would have protested if it were not so warm, and he was too weary to pull rank, so he removed the helm without complaint.

"Your name?" he repeated, as though he had not been interrupted.

"Fran."

"Fran. May I ask what you where doing in Dr. Bunansa's study?"

"Is it not obvious?"

"I'll rephrase, then. What where you endeavouring to steal from my father's study?"

She smiled slightly. "The doctor is your father?"

Ffamran noted that she had referred to Cid as his father, rather than himself as the doctor's son. He had grown so tired of that phrase.

"That's what I said, but that's hardly the point. Answer my question, if you would."

"I was stealing the usual sort of things. Money, trinkets, the like."

"The issue at hand, Fran, is that I don't believe you. You could find more money and trinkets in any house in Tsenoble than you would find in that particular room."

"That may be, Your Honour. But where would the thrill be in that?"

"Where is the thrill in being executed? Because I assure you, if you cannot find a better answer than that, you will be."

She remained silent but continued to hold his gaze.

"Then, hume, it is as you say. I will be executed."

He had not been prepared for this. At the academy, doing his duty was easy enough. But staring into this beautiful creature's eyes and deciding that she should have to die was hardly simple.

Perhaps he was not suited to be a judge at all.

Reflecting upon the situation and trying madly to deduce how he could avoid bloodying his hands, an idea struck him.

"Tell me, Fran. When you were in Dr. Bunansa's study, did you happen to come across anything… strange?"

"Something strange? It is a laboratory. Naturally there are many things there that one would call strange."

"Yes," he concurred impatiently, "but I'm referring more to papers. Plans you might have come across, or..."

A flash of recollection struck him. What if...

"...Perhaps a peculiar sort of stone?"

At this, the creature's eyes flared with rage, but she did not answer.

"So that was what you were looking for."

Ffamran was assured by her expression that this was indeed what she had been after, But the Viera refused to say anything else. It was not until he was about to lock her cell door that she spoke again.

"Take care, Hume-child. For many years the Viera have dreaded this moment, but the greed of humes cannot be easily stopped. If the stone is indeed what I fear it to be, you would do well to leave this wretched place. I say again; take care."

Ffamran did not reply, but slammed the door, alarmed.

He tried to convince himself that there was no truth to what she had just said - It had, after all, been a rather absurd thing to say - but the words would haunt him, rendering him sleepless in the days to come.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **At last, the fourth chapter is up. I have now almost completed the story, so it will not take this long to post again. Hope you enjoy this next bit!

**Disclamer: **I do not own Final Fantasy XII ...

Part 4

"Oh, this is bad news. Bad news indeed. How on earth did you explain yourself? What was your reason for being in the laboratory?"

He stood in her office, in front of her desk, feeling very much like a rude schoolboy summoned to the headmaster. Drace was sitting in her chair, head in her hands, gripping her short cropped hair in frustration.

"Nobody asked. If anyone should enquire, my rapport states that I was paying Cid a visit. He often spends the night there, so there's nothing suspicious about it."

Drace was visibly relaxed. She motioned for him to take a seat, and poured them some wine from the decanter on her desk.

"Well, that's a relief. It will become harder to access the laboratory from now on though. Security will be tightened considerably. I don't think it's wise to attempt breaking in again. It is too risky."

Ffamran took a sip of wine and nodded.

"I agree. You will be happy to know that my father has urged me to take more interest in his studies. I can simply ask him to partake in the research. I doubt I shall meet much persistence. As for what's going on, the Viera said something about a stone. And mist. It sounded rather obscure, but she seemed to believe it vastly important."

Drace looked pensive as she poured herself another glass. "I never heard of either. Don't waste any time looking into it." She fixed him with a stare, looking very sincere.

"You're certain? From what that Fran said, it sounded rather of consequence. And I know for a fact that my father _is_ researching some sort of stone."

"Fran?"

"The Viera," Ffamran explained.

"That may be. But what we need is concrete evidence against Vayne. And the doctor," she added. She suddenly put down her glass, leaning towards him over the desk. "I'm truly grateful to you Ffamran. There are few of us that really care about upholding justice. Some are nothing more than assassins."

Ffamran started, recalling what the Viera had said.

"I was expected to order her execution," he confessed. "Without so much as an interrogation."

"I know. I spoke with Gabranths' informant. But Ffamran," she leaned closer over the desk. "I think it was unwise to defy the norm. I know you are unaccustomed to the ways of the court. But in these troubled times people have little patience with foreigners. And a break-in at Draklor is almost as severe as the Palace."

"So you're saying that because she's a Viera, we might as well kill her? Because no one will care?" he couldn't believe his ears. Not that he had ever taken any active part against racism, but that woman … she was so beautiful. So _human_.

"Not because she's not a hume, but because we need to pick our battles. There is more at stake than just one person. And, in any case, she _did_ do it."

With the clanking of metal, Ffamran drew himself up to full height.

"And what if I refuse?" he challenged her. "What if I say I won't do it?"

"By all means," she said, holding her palms up defensively. "Go through the motions, if it makes you happy. But there is only one outcome possible for that creature. Why don't you spare her the agony of waiting?"

"I know it's what must be done, and believe me, I don't mind doing it. But I want it done right."

It was a lie. The thought of having to sentence someone to death rendered him queasy. He wasn't confident if Drace didn't suspect his feelings too. Her intuition was uncanny and also quite unnerving. Still, it had changed her, in his eyes. She was no longer his plain, dreary mentor, but a friend.

"So you will talk to your father tonight? The sooner we have you in that lab, the better. Meanwhile, Zagabath will have a chat with Bergan. Maybe he can trick a thing or two out of him. Bergan does not yet suspect were he stands."

Ffamran nodded and stood to take his leave.

"Until tomorrow then," he said, bowing a superficial bow and giving her his best crocked smile as he closed the door.

***

Ffamran had it all planned out; what he should say, how to act. He was well on his way home, walking at a brisk pace, motivated by the prospect of shedding his armour. But as he steadily put the courtroom behind him, making his way past ever more impressing residences, she crept into his mind. Fran. The first person he would have to kill.

'No, he thought vehemently, 'not kill. Execute.' But that was just mere words. Perhaps not to a Judge, but to him anyway.

He was struck with the notion of going back to her, and before he knew it, he was well on his way back to the interrogation quarters. Perhaps it was to postpone his conversation with Cid. Maybe it was to sate his curiosity for this strange creature. The more likely theory would be that he was looking for some way to sate his guilt. Perhaps if he talked to her, he would see her for what she really was. Or at least, what everyone clamed her to be; a threat to the Empire.

***

Alas, he was disappointed. There she sat, hands folded in her lap, eyes closed. On the bed in her cell, she looked nether threatening nor lethal. Not to the Empire, nor anyone else for that matter. Certainly not deserving of the death penalty.

He pushed the door open, striding into the room with as much grace he could conjure in his metal entrapment. Her eyes flew up, startled by the sudden noise.

"You have returned," she stated coldly. "Tell me, then. What is to be my fate? Is it my offence, or my race that will convict me?"

"If you were executed it would be because of serious felony against the Empire, not because you're a Viera," Ffamran corrected her, a little annoyed by her lack of respect in authority.

"That armour covers you up nicely. But it cannot conceal your voice. I know when I'm lied to, hume."

Confronted with such forthrightness, Ffamran was no longer able to put on his authority-act. He slumped down on the bed next to her, metal clanking and scraping. There he took off his helmet, letting it fall to the floor.

"You're right, he sighed. "In a way. But not about me. I'm … I'm not them."

"I can tell you are not. You have uneasiness in you. Your soul is restless."

He shot her a confused glance, quickly gathering his senses, and stood from the bed.

"You don't know the first thing about me," he said, crossing his arms.

"If you say so," she answered, cryptically. "So you have never thought of leaving then. You are quite contented playing puppet to greater men?"

"Quiet! I ask the questions here!"

The reason for his sudden fury was of course that she was right. But if he admitted that, even only to himself, staying would be unbearable.

"Then ask," replied she.

"The thing you mentioned, mist. What is it?"

"No doubt your father has the answer."

"I want to hear it from you."

"It is a source of power beyond this world," she began. "If used with caution, it can be a great aide. But, alas, hume-greed will only use it for it's most crude abilities."

"No doubt," Ffamran muttered pensively. "No doubt."

So power was what Cid and Vayne was after. He had no difficulty believing that. But what would they use it for? Was it just a matter of succession of the throne? Maybe this "mist" would give them an upper hand in the war? Still, he had difficulty in believing a mere stone to be that powerful.  
A sudden weariness overcame. It was so tiring, not knowing what to do or were to turn.

"If you aided my escape, I would take you with me."

He stared at her, at her dark skin and grave eyes, and saw that she was perfectly serious. He shook his head dismissively and left. But the notion she had planted in him never disappeared. It only increased as an ever-tempting opportunity in the back of his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Behold the next chapter! The plot will at last take a few steps forward. Oh, and please forgive Fran's strange ramblings. Her dialogue is always difficult to make authentic, so please, bear with me.

Whether you find it enjoyable or terrible, please review. It would mean a lot.

**Disclaimer: **Once again, I do not own Final Fantasy XII. 

Part 5

When Ffamran at last returned to the Bunansa residence, it was past midnight. The streets were still crowded, people hurtling past him in every direction. The sky was clouded and crowded with airships even at this time of night. Archadies never slept.

Nether did his father, it would seem. Once again his study was alight. Cid appeared even more obsessed with his work as usual. Ffamran could spot him, were he stood by the window partly covered by the curtains, his face in shadow.

Once inside and in his room, he took off his armour with weary motions. Every muscle ached and bruises bloomed blue-black on his shoulders. He didn't hesitate in front of the closet as he normally would. Too tired to bother much, he threw on the first thing he found. This was highly atypical, vain as he was. Pausing in front of the mirror, he saw his handsome reflection had dark shades under the eyes. His hair was unkempt, his eyes fatigued. How embarrassing to look so utterly … normal.

***

Once outside Cid's study he paused, hesitating before gathering himself. But before he had a chance to knock he heard a voice through the thick oak door. Did Cid have company? Ffamran placed his ear up against the door, listening, but the voice was too muffled to make any meaning. He knocked.

"Enter," his father replied, loud enough for him to hear.

As he stepped into the large, dimly lit room, he saw his father standing at the precisely same spot as he'd last seen him. He faced the window, away from his son.

The once immaculate office was now in complete disarray, books and papers scattered all over the floor and desk. A thin layer of dust covered every surface. On the desk, resting on a pile of papers, Ffamran spotted the stone he'd seen his father scrutinizing previously.

"Was there something you wanted?"

Cid's voice made Ffamran, who still stood in the doorway looking around, start.

"Yes, actually." He stepped inside to the front of the desk. "There is something I wish to discuss-"

"What was that Venat?"

"Excuse me?" Ffamran asked, taken aback at the interruption.

"Really?"

"Father?"

But Cid did not answer. Not Ffamran, at least. He stepped around the desk, to the window.

"It doesn't much matter. Not to us. Vayne needs us."

"_Father_!"

"Ffamran? Can't you see I'm busy?"

Suddenly he was himself again, as if the madness was only momentarily. Not only was he sane, he was angry.

"Was there something you wanted?" he asked once more.

"I …" he recollected his thoughts. "I was only wondering if there was any possibility that I could … that you could include me in your ongoing project at Draklor?"

"No, no."

"No? Why not?"

"Oh, foolish boy, I wasn't talking to you. Why this sudden interest?"

"Oh," he waved his hand airily. "I've heard rumours. It all sounds most intriguing."

Cid's eyes wandered out of focus, and he turned away from his son, once again facing the window. Ffamran found it best not to push matters further. In fact, he was more worried about his father's sanity than the on goings at Draklor. But as he turned to exit the room, his father finally spoke.

"Come by tomorrow. We'll see then."

Not completely certain the words were meant for him, he closed the door, leaving Cid to his invisible friend.

***

It was not until the next morning, that Ffamran felt the full force of last day's events; the Viera and the judgement he would soon have to enforce on her. The increasing pressure from Drace. Betraying his father. And finally; Cid. Cid, who had at long last been driven insane from some experiment or other.

Ever since his mother, the doctor's wife, had died three years previous, the father and son had drifted apart. It was no conscious decision, but rather a slow and painful process. And there was no one there to reconcile them. But even so, despite all their differences, Cid was still his father. And the thought of him slowly loosing grip on reality called forth a dull pain in his chest. Still, in spite of all his aches and pains, both physical as well as mental, he would have to get out of bed, strap on his armour, and face today's challenges.

His body felt heavy and battered as he sat up and paced to the window. Archadies in its ever-changing state seemed like the one thing that didn't change at the moment. He looked to the sky. At the airships. Maybe he would be soaring the heavens of Ivalice one day as a dashing sky pirate. Ffamran recalled the Viera's suggestion. Aide her escape and she would take him with her. How wonderful that sounded. And yet, how fanciful. No, he would have to cling to what was real. He thought of Drace, of her persistence and courage. And so he turned away from the sky and began to dress for the day.

***

"He was what?"

Drace's voice echoed in disbelief through her helmet. Ffamran, too ashamed to meet her gaze, stared fixedly straight ahead. They were walking towards the interrogation quarters down a gloomy corridor. The walls and floors were both of stone. Since it was under ground there were no windows. The grim torches created a rather claustrophobic atmosphere.

Drace was on her way to interrogate a new prisoner. It was a fairly uninteresting case, but Ffamran was brought along to observe her in action. Along the way he told her everything of last night's events, even though they brought a blush to his face.

"Talking. To someone. And apparently I was interrupting the conversation."

Ffamran, looking down in shame, scrutinized the dirty floor.

"He was always an eccentric, but that I did not expect. I am truly sorry for you Ffamran."

"Oh," he shook his head dismissively. "It's not like we were all that close. I am after all endeavouring to spy on him."

"And on that note; is there any progress?"

"He has invited me to stop by today. I will leave directly after the interrogation."

Drace stopped short and Ffamran, who had not expected it, bumped into her. They both fell flat on the floor, making a shambles of metal and limbs. The clanking noises sounded down the corridor, alerting the guard who came running to investigate. Ffamran, rather embarrassed with his ungainliness, managed to crawl up first. He extended his hand to Drace, pulling her to her feet.

"You two, you're alright?" the guard hollered down the corridor.

As Drace stood he recognized her armour, blushed and mumbled, "Oh! My apologies, Your Honour," before he scurried off.

"That's odd," Ffamran murmured, as the guard disappeared from view.

"Not really," Drace sighed. "In these troubled times, everyone are forced to take sides. And those who aren't take one anyway. Just to be part of the game."

"Sides?"

"Just politics, Ffamran. After the murder on the two Solidor-sons, the whole court-room has been divided; those who support Vayne, and those who hold true to the law. As our ill luck would have it, we belong to the minority. But there is nothing new about that. Those who strive for justice generally struggle alone."

As Drace gave this little speech, they entered the interrogation quarters, and passed the Viera's cell.

"You will go to Draklor right away. There is no need for you to observe. After all, you have your own prisoner. That should give you ample training."

***

"It's not even been a week."

Ffamran closed the door, shutting out the noises of the corridor. The Viera sat on her bed as usual. Legs crossed, back ruler-straight. The cold light gave an unpleasant atmosphere to the room. He loosened the strap and removed his helmet.

"Not even a week. But still I have your life at my mercy. Possibly at my conscience."

At framing the words, not merely thinking them as he had been over and over, the reality of them struck him. Actions never before committed, feelings never before experienced, are difficult to imagine and truly understand. It stood so clearly before him now, as he stood in the cell in front of his victim. Her amber eyes meet his green ones steadily. They looked so peaceful. That did not help.

Ffamran slumped down next to her on the bed, closing his eyes to hold the persistent tears at bay.

"When one is trapped between the bad decisions of another, when every road is filled with mist and darkness," her voice chanted close to him. "There is but one cure, one way to light the path. You must always trust to your own heart. Your own integrity." She placed one slender hand on his shoulder. "When all and everyone falter, your self-respect will remain intact. And in the end, that is the only thing you need."

Ffamran opened his eyes, not certain if he understood her cryptic manner of speech.

"So, my friend," she continued, "Take no heed of others. Always listen to your own conscience. What does it tell you? What must you do?"

_What would he do? _

Not only in terms to the Viera. There was the matter of Cid. Would he really spy on his own father in order to bring him and Vayne down? What would it accomplish? Could he simply leave, like Fran had proposed and let Drace fight the battle alone? The questions were raised, but not resolved. Soon however, Ffamran knew they would have to be.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **I've realized that this may not be one of the most exiting stories. And something as lengthy as this requires quite a lot of work. I think I'll stick to oneshots form now on. But still, I think it's important to finish a story no matter how few people read it. So behold: the sixth chapter!

**Disclaimer: **(do I really have to write this every single time?) I do not own Final Fantasy XII

Part 6

The grim shape of Draklor towered up over the city. It's many windows and shining surfaces glittered and glinted in the sun. At the base of the magnificent building Ffamran could spot the topmost windows of his father's study. He paused for a moment, standing still in the busy street, wondering if his father was up there. Perhaps he was even looking down at him this very moment. Cid, like himself, had always been partial to grand views. An irritated cough behind him interrupted his reflections, and he realised he was just stalling, begrudging the moment he'd have to face his father. He wasted no more time and headed inside.

He would do as Drace said, at least for now. Ffamran would not blindly follow instructions he thought amiss, but Drace had never faltered thus far. He thought it wise to trust her judgement so he would continue to pry into Cid's research. He would search for evidence to convict Vayne. As for the other matter; the Viera sitting in a cell in the interrogation quarters, he was yet undecided. But that could wait, if only a little while.

The elevators brought him to the top floor. As he stood there, waiting, he could not hold back memories of the last time he'd been there. The first time he had met her. And she had spoken to him. She had referred to Cid as his father, rather to himself as Cid's son. As the doctor's son. God, he was tired of that phrase.

The doors opened and cut his reminiscence short. Ffamran braced himself, wincing a little at the pain of the metal cutting into his shoulders.

But as the doors opened, and he caught the first glimpse of the office, he found the room empty.

It was immaculate as always. Every surface shining, every paper stacked in a neat pile. But his father did not occupy his regular place behind the desk. A wave of relief hit him, and Ffamran realized that he'd feared more of the conduct he'd seen last night. On the other hand, he would once more have to return to Drace without fulfilling his mission.

He walked across the room to the windows behind the desk. Looking down at the busy street he'd stood in moments before. He was so far up that he could even see as far as the city walls. He turned his eyes from the sight, back to the deserted office. He supposed he'd just had to wait.

Ffamran had spent plenty of time there as a child. It was a long time ago, yet things where placed the exact same spot as they had years ago. As he paced the room, studying the magnificent bookshelf, he spotted an old favourite and pulled it out.

It was a handsome, leather-bound book about airship engineering. It hadn't made much sense to him as a child, but the drawings had always fascinated him. He remembered not even being strong enough to hold it, and ordering his father to pull it out for him. Ffamran let it fall open in his palm, studying the intricate drawings of engines, wheels and glossair rings. As he flipped the pages a word caught his eyes. Written above an engine designed by no other than Dr. Bunansa himself, it stood "_mist engine"_. An explanation followed beneath. About the revolutionary step forwards in airship engineering, his father making use of natural power sources in this new design. The designs, however, where incomplete. They had hit a snag and, the book concluded, mist-engines where still an ongoing project.

He closed the book, putting it back in its place on the shelf.  
So Fran had been wrong. They did not only use this "mist" for all the wrong reasons. Not _just_ the wrong reasons at least. He remembered his father had tried to teach him about engineering, but had not been altogether successful. Ffamran, though astute, did not have the head for calculations. It took many long and painful months before Cid admitted this. Determined that his son would make something of himself, he decided on making him a judge instead.

Ffamran completed his stroll around the room, stopping once in a while, picking up things that held particular sentimental value. It wasn't many. Cid had rid the room for most of them.

At last he returned to the desk, sitting down in the chair. He recalled Drace's first request; that he would search his fathers office for anything incriminating. Perhaps this was his chance? He reached for the closest pile of papers, and began rummaging through them. But, nothing. Just calculations, notes and sketches. Then again, would his father really keep something important on his desk? The drawers? No … Not after what Fran had done.

Shaking his head, Ffamran stood and returned to the window. Having taken off his helmet, he leaned his forehead against the window. The glass was so cold against his hot face. The sun, temporarily hidden behind a cloud, came forth again. He had been following an airship with his eyes; a sleek, new design, faster looking than any other ship on the sky, when suddenly his eyesight became blurry.

Confused he drew his head back, and things became the usual sharp. He went closer to the window and, as expected, things once again got out of focus. This was all very odd. Turning his head slightly, pressing his cheek against the glass, staring at it crookedly, he saw patterns envelope the transparent surface. There was something there, on the glass, though he could not make out what it was. A pang of excitement hit him. What where the chances that … but, no, he must not get carried away.

Looking around, he could spot the light-switch at the far end of the room. He clicked the switch, leaving the room in darkness save the light that shone through the window. It put the markings on the glass in plain view.

Ffamran drew a sharp breath, marvelling at the sight before him. The glass, considerably large as it was, was covered with writing. He could recognize his father's untidy scribbles. He had no idea what sort of pen needed, but it was a brilliant idea, only making the writing readable when the room was dark. The excitement was intoxicating, and he had to really gather himself to gain focus.

It was a formula, far beyond his ability to make out. But the notes where understandable. They spoke of something called Nethescite. Manufactured Nethescite. None of it made much sense at all. At least he and Drace would finally know what they where working on here. Though he still had no idea what it was for. The only clue was something written at the very bottom of the glass.

"_With this manmade power, the Manufactured Nethecite, we will put the rains of fate back in the hands of man."_

That didn't make things much clearer. In fact, it seemed to Ffamran that his father had lost his marbles completely.

The satisfaction and excitement ebbed out, and left in its place a feeling of disappointment and frustration. Perhaps Cid needed help? Whatever he it was, being betrayed by his own son was not one of them. But once again, Ffamran needed to remind himself that this was about more than just him and his father. It could potentially be fateful to the destiny of Archadia.

Then he heard the elevator coming up, and with no more time to contemplate, he flicked the light on, and the writing disappeared. He went down the staircase to stand by the doors when they opened.

Cid, hands filled with heavy books and sketches, almost ran into him on his way through the doors.

"What the-," he yelped in surprise. Peeking out behind the unorganized pile, he spotted his son. "Oh, it's you. What are you doing here Ffamran?"

He began navigating towards the stairs, careful not to drop what was in his hands. Ffamran followed.

"Do you not recollect father, telling me to come here today?"

"What? Oh, yes. Of course." Cid reached his desk, dumping it all in one messy pile. "Yes, yes. So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Well, I was wondering if there was any possibility that I could be included in the ongoing project here at Draklor."

Cid, who was sorting through the books, stopped and looked at him, eyes assessing him carefully. "Which one of them?"

"Er …" Ffamran cursed at himself for not thinking this better through. His eyes flickered. Then he spotted the leather bound book on the shelf.

"With mist-engines. I have taken a fancy to airships of late. I want to learn more."

Cid's gaze, that had been utterly suspicious, now changed to something close to delight.

"Ah, I see you finally gained some sense. Yes, the mist-engine is fascinating indeed." He picked up one of the paper scrolls, rolling it out. "In fact, you'd be happy to know that we just made a breakthrough in the designs."

Cid went on to explain the difficulties they'd had with cooling the engine. He then proceeded to a tale of how the idea had struck him. Ffamran, utterly uninterested, did not pay much attention. He nodded at the right places, feigning absolute interest, while he contemplated the change in his father's mood.

"We're building a prototype as we speak!" he announced at last. "You never had much of a knack for math, but your designs where always good. You can come by tomorrow. Or tonight if you will. Then I'll introduce the project to you."

The arrangements where made, and Ffamran took his leave, content with being well on his way to betraying his father.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **I really have tried to correct my grammatical errors, and other language-related mistakes. Still, I suspect that this chapter is as rife with them as all the others. But anyways, the story takes a step forward in this one. I think it'll be about ten chapters long, when it's done, so not long to go now.  
Hope you enjoy the seventh chapter!

**Disclamer: **I don't own Final Fantasy XII *sigh*

Part 7

Ffamran grinned smugly and accepted the glass Drace pushed towards him over the desk. It was filled to the brim with some amber liquid. Drace lifted her own glass and downed most of it in one sip without grimacing. The woman could certainly hold her liquor. That was one of the many things Ffamran admired about her. A little ashamed, he only took a careful sip, feeling the drink burn in his throat. He had been narrating his lucky discovery at Draklor, and Drace had pulled out a bottle to celebrate.

"Mind you, I have no idea what he means by it. If it means anything at all," he continued, referring to the writing on Cid's office-window. "Cid has appeared rather out of sorts of late," he mumbled before taking another tiny sip.

_The rains of fate back in the hands of man._

"Well, you must find out then. Good thing you though of that mist-engine. Now you can find out more about mist as well."

"Yes. But I can't spend that much time there. Even if you can relieve me of most of my duties, I'm still in charge of the process with Fran."

Drace scrutinized him over the brim of her glass.

"Actually, that won't be a problem. This arrived for you earlier today."

She handed him an envelope, sealed with the seal of the court. He tore it open, impatiently pulling out the papers inside.

"_Your court-time has been set_," he began reading aloud. "What's this?"

"I believe it's the date you'll convict and execute the Viera. It's about time that came. They where probably stalling on purpose, because you insisted on going through all the motions."

Ffamran ruffled through the papers, franticly searching for the date. He found it on the first page, but had to read it three times over before he could grasp its meaning.

"So, when are you set up for?" Drace asked, sensing his distress.

"In … in two days."

He could think of nothing to say. Since Drace was nether talkative, nor consoling, they sat in silence, drinking. When Ffamran at last managed to drain the glass, he stood.

"I suppose I must go tell her. I will report to you the moment I find or hear something of suspicion."

He then said a hasty goodbye, darting for the door and nearly tumbling over Zagabath on his way out.

***

"Sure you can hold another one?" the bartender smirked.

"Shut up and pour, will you!" Ffamran snapped back at him. He was one of the few customers in the seedy bar and it would seem the bartender tried to relieve some of his boredom on him.

"What sort of party have you been to?" he asked, filling his glass to the brim once again.

"Party?" Ffamran asked dumbly.

"Geez, how much have you'd had to drink? Why else would you be strutting around in that Judge's uniform?

Ffamran had headed straight to the closest bar, not even bothering to change out of his armour. He must have been and odd sight so he decided to go along with his story.

"Yeah. Party …"

"But not a fun one, it seems," the bartender chatted away. "Girl giving you trouble, eh?"

"Mmm," he nodded. That was a pretty accurate guess. Two girls, in fact. He slumped down over his drink, studying the contents pensively. Just when things had begun looking up … Now he felt sick to his stomach. He didn't even know why he cared. The Viera had given him nothing but grief.

"It's all so fragile, you know?" he slurred, suddenly feeling philosophical.

"What?" the bartender asked, a little bemused.

"Life …happiness."

"Know what you mean man. Women!" he spat. "Make you fall, and then leave you hanging."

"Oh, I won't be the one to hang," he mumbled. "Still, I don't see why I care. She was so arrogant. Rude and aloof. Sort of like me …"

"What you need is another woman to take your mind of things. Should be easy enough for someone as handsome as yourself."

"I know, I know ..." he muttered without modesty. "well, not of late. This damned job is keeping me away from my preening," he added. "But I don't think picking up some random girl is going to make me feel better... Oddly enough."

"She really have you whipped, this one? Well then, m'laddo, there's only one thing to do," the bartender said, leaning over the counter and whispering his pearls of wisdom. "Talk to her. Communication, that's the key!"

"You know what, I think I will. She must know. The sooner the better!"

Ffamran drained his glass, spilling a great deal of it's contents in his rush, and made for the door."

"Ah, young love," the bartender sighed, before noticing that the customer had not paid his bill.

***

The guard fidgeted nervously, trying to hold his stand. He was the unlucky sentry present when the Viera had broken in at the laboratory, and was not too pleased with once again being the source of the doctor's son's displeasure.

"I'm sorry sir, but there really is no visiting the prisoners while ... in your current state."

"First of all, I'm not here to visit, but to inform my prisoner of the current update of her trial. Secondly, whatever do you mean by 'current state'?"

Ffamran had almost sobered up on his way to the courtroom, but he still stunk of beer and other bar-related odours.

"Can't it wait 'till tomorrow?" the guard pleaded.

"If it could, why would I be here now, rather than in my own bed?"

The guard relinquished at last, not so much because of Ffamran's arguments, but because he feared what he would do if he was not granted access.

"Very well then. But please, Your Honour, be quiet. I'll get sacked if my boss finds out," he pleaded as he stepped out of the way for the Judge.

Ffamran shook his head exasperated. The man took his job very seriously. He supposed that should be something commendable, rather than the source of irritation.

***

The grim and dark corridor that led to the cells was deserted. He was grateful that no one else would see him in this condition. Other than Fran, of course. Outside her cell, he paused. Perhaps he should come back another time? What if she was sleeping? But no; he peeped inside and saw her, sitting on her bed, upright as ever. As he pressed his face to the tiny glass, she turned her head and looked straight at him. He drew away quickly, blushing at being caught. But now that she had spotted him, he had no choice but to go in and face her.

If he had expected some sort of comment or chirp, he soon experienced that the Viera did not engage in such frivolities.

"You are ill at ease," she stated the moment she saw his face.

"Right ...How very observant you are today."

"Tell me then, what troubles you, hume."

The fact that she seemed genuinely interested in his problems made it all the more difficult to spill the news. He took of his helm, but hesitated before he spoke.

"Sit," she said, indicating the empty space beside her on the bed. He swallowed, but did as asked.

"I have received news of your trial," he began, gauging her every reaction. "The date for your conviction has been set ... and ..."

"Go on."

"I am sorry to say that the penalty is ..." he had to take another little break, drawing in big gulps of air. "The penalty for a crime such as yours is death."

There, he'd said it. He watched her intently, searching for some sort of reaction, but none came.

"Though this should by no means come as a shock to you, I realize that it must be a great deal to process-"

"You seem rather shocked yourself," Fran interrupted. She lifted a slender hand, and placed it on the side of his head, ruffling his hair a little. As chills ran down his spine and his stomach tightened, he realized this was the first time she'd touched him.

"I wonder why."

He collected his scattered thoughts and endeavoured to answer her.

"Have you ever killed someone?"

"I survive ..." she whispered, as she caressed her cheek.

Her hand stroked down the length of his face, continuing down his neck. Then it was in his hair once again. And all the while holding his gaze.

"I survive at any cost. I suppose you must do the same."

Her words broke the spell, and he leapt to his feet.

"I ... I have to go. Excuse me."

How many times now had she chased him from her cell? How many nights had he lain awake, unable to sleep, pondering her words? He'd lost count. And he suspected this would hardly be the last one.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **I don't know why this has taken me so long to upload. It's been done for ages, but somehow I've never gotten around to do it. If someone is following the story, I can only apologize.  
It's not long to go now. Fran will face her penalty, and Ffamran has a decision to make. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I think it's well established that I do not own Final Fantasy XII, nor do I profit from this fic.

Part 8

The two days went by quickly enough. Ffamran kept himself busy and occupied at all times, endeavoring to keep his thoughts from counting down the hours the Viera had left. But when he did not focus on filling out paperwork, or keeping busy at Draklor, his treacherous brain would force the thoughts he tried to keep at bay to the forefront of his mind. He would remember her touch, and his cheeks would burn.

***

As promised by Cid he had been included in the workings on the mist engine. He knew his only task there was to recover information vital to the case against Vayne, but strangely enough he fond the work rather interesting. Though he still hadn't managed to wrap his head around engineering, he had as Cid had described it: 'a knack for design'. The designers welcomed him with open arms, happily including him in the project. They where building a prototype airship, something he took a genuine interest in.

"Hey, you …er… doctor's son," one of the workers hollered after him, waving him back.

Ffamran turned on his way out of the hangar, and walked back at a brisk pace. The worker was standing in front of the airship. It was not yet complete. Panels, wires and unattached pieces lay scattered all over the floor. In the midst of all the mess, stood the ship. Even unfinished, Ffamran thought it a magnificent one. If they succeeded, they would go on manufacturing the it, and this one would be locked up in storage, or possibly destroyed.

"It's Ffamran. Bunansa to you," he said coolly when he reached the man. He stood with some crumpled paper in his hands, uncomfortable at having insulted his boss' son, and a judge to boot.

"I have a question about the designs," he explained. "It's to be installed with artillery," he pointed to the drawing as to clarify.

"I am aware. It was at my request."

"But sir, what's the point of guns on a prototype, eh?"

"To see how much energy the new power-source can generate and sustain," Ffamran began to explain.

"On the prototype?"

"Yes! Why am I explaining myself to you? Just get it done, will you?"

He had no wish to explain his reasoning any further, because he was not entirely certain what possessed him to add the guns. He had been toying with an idea, but … it was too farfetched. Still … better safe than sorry.

He stalked of, leaving the worker to ponder over the designs. There had not been much time to snoop around, so by the end of the second day, he still hadn't found anything that could shed some light on his previous findings.

***

Drace was not altogether happy about his lack of progress.

"At last this trial will be over, and you can focus on more important tasks," she said to him as they entered the courtroom on the second day. This was not the Judgers main quarters, but the actual court. Though they where using one of the smaller chambers, the façade was impressive enough. The walls where richly decorated, heavy curtains covering the windows, shutting out all light. At the far end of the room, there was a podium. The judge's seat. As he stepped inside the room, the tree people there stood. Since this was a case of little consequence and eminence, there where no one there but a guard, a secretary and the prisoner. People had done their best to cover up the break-in, which would have made a bad impression of the imperial soldiers that guarded the place. And now the last piece of the unfortunate business was about to be disposed of as well.

The 'piece' in question, was standing shackled up next to her guard. She was standing erect, her expression so distant, that looking upon it one would not believe she was conscious of her fait. She tossed her head, drawing attention to the pale hair cascading down her back. The long ears where pointed forward. A gesture he'd come to recognize as relaxed. As he got closer he saw her eyes like pools of amber, wandering inattentively. Ffamran, who had been expected her far less composed than usual, was made even more disturbed by this utter indifference.

He took his seat on the podium, and then reached for his papers in his briefcase. His hands where not wholly obedient, making it difficult for him to proceed with any considerable speed. The trial itself was a simple procedure. He needed to state her crime, give his judgment, and explain why it had to be so. Since he was still in training, so to speak, Drace was needed to oversee that everything was done properly. It could all be over in twenty minutes. If he ever managed to locate the papers.

"In the matter of the Empire against Fran, no surname, the case is rather straightforward," he began, speaking to the room at large. His voice was so dry, his throat like sandpaper. Within his helmet, it was difficult to speak loud enough. Altogether warm and uncomfortable, he continued, endeavoring to conjure more authority into his voice.

"The charged was found by me, Judge Bunansa, at the crime scene, where she was endeavoring to steal from the Empire. Though much would indicate that she is in the employment of Rozaria, this is not confirmed. How do you plead?"

This last question was directed at Fran. He looked at her once more then, as she stood to answer. It was ironical; he, who had all the power in this court, where almost shaking from fear and panic, while she, who was minutes away from death looked complete at ease, standing tall with confidence.

"I am guilty," she said, looking almost bored.

"Then the sentence is clear." He swallowed, cursing the moisture that gathered on his forehead and trickled down in his eyes clouding his eyesight. "You will be hung from the neck until you are dead. The sentence is to be delivered directly. May the gods be merciful."

"The only mercy that matters it yours."

There would be no appeal, nor a defense. That was as it usually was. The chamber of Justice (or execution, as some would have it), was even placed behind the courtrooms, to spare time. Now all they needed to do, was take a short stroll down the passage behind them, and then it would soon be over. He stood, the others copying his movement. The guard seized the Viera in a firm grip, though she didn't resist or struggle like most people would. She looked at him as they walked by, but he could not meet her eyes, and looked away. Drace caught up with him as he stepped into the passage, looking rather pleased.

"You did well, Ffamran. I almost feared that you would refuse to convict her." She placed a gloved hand on his shoulder. "Now it shall soon be done, and you can put it behind you. It will be as it never was."

She was trying to comfort him, but made a poor job of it. It was not in her nature, he supposed. Nevertheless, he appreciated her effort.

"I certainly hope not. I don't wish to forget."

"That is kind, and I dare say very correct, but you must not linger too much in the past, my friend."

Their conversation seized as they stepped into the chamber of Justice. Ffamran had never been there before, and had imagined a bigger room. The chamber in which he stood seemed far too intimate for an execution. By one wall stood a row of chairs, presumably to sit in while watching the 'show'. Otherwise the room was empty, save for the gallows that stood in the middle of the room, seemingly towering up over him. The guard led the Viera up the scaffold, while Drace took a seat. Ffamran made ready for the last speech he would bestow on her.

"Do you have any last words?"

Fran, now with the noose around her neck, looked down at him, for the first time betraying some emotion. She did not looked frightened, nor sad, but rather, angry.

"I do not take well to being shackled up, Hume."

The anger seemed to be escalating into rage. She was almost shaking with indignation, her eyes set on him. And then, he didn't know how, she was free of her chains.

She was so fast, so graceful. Before ether of them had time to react, she had knocked the guard unconscious. Ffamran froze, nether helping, nor making any resistance. Drace, however, where on her feet, and unsheathing her sword. The guard had not had the time, but if the Viera was to face an armed judge, Ffamran highly doubted she would survive. The only two women in his life where facing each other, and he new he could not live with ether of the possible outcomes.

Suddenly his body was mobile again, and he stepped forward, blocking Drace's path.

"Ffamran! Out of my way," she yelled, seemingly unaware that he was doing it on purpose. As she tried to get past, Fran fled out of the room.

"Stop her," Drace commanded, and Ffamran followed her out of the room. Fortunately Drace didn't follow. But the Viera was fast, even with her impossibly high heals. The armoire made it difficult for him to move with any considerable speed. It was like the incident with that damned briefcase all over again. It was not until the end of the hallway, where she had to pause in order to push open the doors that he caught up with her. She lifted her hands ready to strike down at him.

"Will you stop for a moment. I'm on you side," Ffamran muttered, regaining some of his old demeanor. Fran blinked, surprise crossing her features for the first time. He hadn't been sure she was able to.

"Then my friend, let us go. It is not safe to linger here."

"You've got a plan?"

"I prefer spontaneity."

Ffamran sighed. "Of course you do … but perhaps we could …" A few seconds went by as he made up his mind. His father would kill him. On the other hand, if they lingered here, someone else would.

"Follow me," he said, grabbing her, pulling her after her as he made for the exit.

"Where to?" she panted.

"To the Draklor laboratory."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **The ninth part is up a little faster! I'm so sorry it took so long with the last one. Had I known anyone was reading I would have posted much sooner.

A little note to those who are currently reading: this fic has now been bumped up to a K+. Just so you're aware of that. I'm considering raising the rating even higher, but if a current reader has a problem with that just let me know. If someone has read the entire story, one should not have to stop because the contents where not as expected.

Another thing. I appreciate all kinds of comments (even flames, I've found), but I can't respond to those that are anonymous. So I'll do it here; thank you so much Francesca for leaving such an awesome comment!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Final Fantasy XII

Part 9

The escape was fairly easy. As a Judge, there was nothing suspicious about him escorting a prisoner. Of course Fran's appearance got them plenty of notice but no one seemed at all apprehensive. When he cuffed her once again she seemed about to rebel, but decided that she trusted him.  
Thus they left the court with ease. Ffamran could nevertheless feel moisture gathering on his forehead, as if the treacherous fluids would like to abandon the premises before the situation worsened. Luckily Fran, who could not hide behind a helmet, looked perfectly at ease.

Once they where out on the streets he drew a deep, calming breath and released her cuffs. Drace would sound the alarm as soon as she understood who's side Ffamran had taken. But now they where out on the more crowded streets, and it would be harder to spot them. He felt uneasy betraying her, but the alternative was far worse. Still, with this he not only gave up his post as judge, but also the possibility of procuring justice for the two Solidor-sons that had been murdered. Worst of all, he would forever loose his friendship with Drace. He hoped someday to apologize, seek atonement. But the time for that was not now.

***

As they entered Draklor people looked far more confused than in court, but nevertheless let them pass without question. Still, Ffamran was nervous, not able to stand still once they where in the elevator.

As he fidgeted restlessly, her hand suddenly found its way to his shoulder. She brought the elevator to a stop and took a step, no longer standing beside him but across from him. Her eyes where grave and yet as lovely as ever. Just as he was contemplating the fortuitousness of the helmet that so snugly hid his rising blush, she bade him take it of.

"I do not wish to speak to Judge Bunansa, but to Ffamran. You do not belong behind a mask of metal. You ought to be free. Take it of."

And so he did. His hair a little ruffled and cheeks a little pink. Yet it was a relief to draw fresh air.

"I am not Judge Bunansa any more. Armor or no armor."

"I am aware. And that is why I wish to speak. But first, remove you're gauntlets also."

He began to wonder if this was some freaky Viera form of strip-poker. Not that he objected to the idea itself, but he doubted this to be the best of places, and certainly the best of times. He let his hesitance be shown by the characteristic quirk of an eyebrow. Fran merely stared at him 'till he surrendered with a soft sigh.

As he bared his hands she took hold of them, never once breaking eye contact.

"I wish to thank you. You're actions where purely selfless. You had everything to loose, and yet you chose what you thought the best. Such integrity is rare. It is something only owned by truly great men. And the gods reward it."

Her sincerity, thought touching, made him a little awkward. As a feeble try for defense, he resorted to one of those knee-jerk reactions.

"Why don't you reward me instead?"

He had expected a face-slap. Perhaps even to be thrown through the bulkhead of the elevator. Instead she stepped even closer. Still holding his hands, she leaned forward so that their foreheads met (at this point Ffamran waivered between incredulity at her actions and bliss that he had removed the helmet). It was such a loving gesture, something that had not been bestowed on him since his mother was alive. Albeit, this took a rather different turn as she broke eye-contact at last. Closing her eyes she tilted forward. His vision was filled with chocolate skin, his mouth captured by soft lips.

She kissed him. He was kissed.

As he grew used to the thought of this lovely creature bestowing such intimacy on him, he closed his eyes and kissed her back.

He had imagined it many times, and somehow thought it would be…different. Because she was different. The kiss, however, was normal. Wonderfully normal. But Fran wasn't, and that made it the most perfect kiss he'd ever had.  
Her soft lips moved against his, a little tentative at first. When he kissed her back it was rougher, more urgent. His gauntlet-free hands moved up in her hair, caressing the softness, cupping her head. She sighed as he nibbled playfully on her lower lip. Encouraged, not to mention aroused, by the sound, he licked her lips slowly.  
From there the kiss deepened and deepened until his mind was nothing but stray thoughts about Fran, about Drace, about whether they would think to look for them here, but mostly about nothing at all, as he reveled in the feel and tasted of the woman who kissed him.

When she broke of it was as sudden as when it started. She eased herself out of his grip and brought the elevator to movement again. All the while with a perfect composure, not even a little flushed or short breathed. The only evidence of their excursion was her lips, that where slightly swollen.

Ffamran fidgeted with the gauntlets as he brought them back on, but left the helmet.

"Be easy. They suspect nothing," Fran said, in complete ease.

It took him a while to understand what she was referring to.

"I know …"

"You regret leaving that woman," Fran stated bluntly.

"I- … I do nothing of the sort. I have made my choice," the denial was a compulsion.

"Good. Now you will have to stand by it."

The doors to the hangar parted, and he followed his partner in crime out.

"You do know how to pilot an airship, right?" he asked her, but the voices that came echoing towards them, cut him of.

They pressed themselves up against the wall as voices approached. It was a poor hiding place, and if the owner of the voices where heading towards the elevator, he and Fran was certain to be discovered. By the sound of their voices, he knew who they where, and it was bad news indeed. Yet still Fran looked the very paragon of ease and calm. He was certain that he looked her exact opposite, brows furrowed, yet eyes wide with worry. Where had his arrogance, his aloof demeanor gone?

"You have taken no previous interests in the work with mist. Why now?" Doctor Cid's voice echoed through the hangar.

"I must admit I thought it was a dead end." Ffamran had heard his voice enough times to know that it was Vayne Solidor speaking. "The research has been stagnant for so long. But this new design, well ..." he took a pause, presumably indication the airship behind them. "This will revolutionise the trade, not to mention warfare. With this on our side, the Rozzarians are sure to loose."

"And yet Rozzarian spies are everywhere. Real spies, not merely falsely accused brothers."

Ffamran froze in anticipation, straining to hear every word.

"Do I detect a hint of disapproval in your voice, doctor?"

"You already know my feelings in regard to your brothers. It was reckless, and the excuse feeble. Even my son saw right through it."

"Oh, my good man, I assume everyone has seen through it. Nevertheless, there is little those old and feeble men in the senate can do. They need me in these troubled times, the military genus that I am. And you will help me strengthen my position by manufacturing as many of these mist-driven airships as fast as you can."

Ffamran drew a sharp breath. So Vayne had seen to his brothers' death. And Cid had helped him. This was as suspected. It was frustrating, however, to finally know the truth now that he was leaving and would not be able to do anything about it. Drace would have to finish the battle alone. He could feel Fran's eyes on him, scrutinizing his face and the emotions that where sure to linger there.

"I must say, Cid, this is beyond anything you have ever made. You can be certain that Draklor will be rewarded with unconditional funding."

"I thank you. And I will see to the manufacturing. But there are still some adjustments to be made. This is just a prototype. And I have some other mist-related research that I find equally important. It will take time."

Fran nudged him slightly, calling his attention. Vayne and Cid where rapidly closing in on the elevator, and they had nowhere to hide. He sincerely hoped that the Viera had some sort of trick up her sleeve; the thought of facing his father was one he dreaded.

Fran's hands began to glow, as her lips mouthed some sort of incantation. As she lifted her arm, a glimmering, flickering multicoloured light danced about her slender fingers. He followed her movements, mesmerized as she placed her palm on his forehead. It sent a cold, trickling feeling throughout his body. When he looked down to inspect the curious sensation he found that it had vanished.

"To the ship," she whispered almost inaudibly, and scurried past him, her heals miraculously quiet. She grabbed his hand and pulled him after her.

As they rounded the corner, Ffamran was suddenly facing his father. His expression was set, determined in arguing his rights. They hastened past the two, careful not to make too much noise. Once past, their escape seemed certain.

He did not think about the fact that this was perhaps the last time he would see his father, the only family he'd got left. The thought lingered in his mind somewhere, but he was far too occupied and pumped on adrenaline to register the thought. It would have been redundant in any case, because as he ran after the impossibly fast Viera towards the airship waiting in the midst of the hangar, a yell behind him made him turn on his heel.

There, at the far end of the room, stood his father. He stared at them, incredulous and livid all at the same time. Next to him stood a confused Vayne. His expression must have mirrored Ffamran's. How in Ivalice could his father see him when Vayne clearly could not? He turned towards Fran, hoping she could enlighten him.

Again he was taken aback by her sudden rage. If he thought his father looked livid, it was before he saw Fran. It was as though a pulsing energy emanated from her, throbbing with indignation. Again a stray thought surfaced in his mind; how could she be so unaffected when she was kissed, when her life was in danger, yet so shaken and out of control by the mere sight of his father?

"What?" he whispered, praying Cid hadn't developed super-hearing as well.

"The mist... it lingers thick."

"What?" he asked one more time, if possibly even more confused.

"I warned you about hume greed. Now you are about to witness what happens when you do not leave what should be left to be. I am truly sorry, Ffamran."

"Wha- oh blast it! What the hell do you mean woman?"

He turned away, back towards his father, cursing them both in equal amounts. Cid was staring directly at him. The invisibility spell was still intact – Ffamran could not see his own body. And yet, and he had no clue as to how, his father would not be thrown off by such magic.

"Ffamran, I did not see you. What are you doing here? With a guest?"

A...guest? Slowly it dawned on him. Naturally his father new nothing of the escape. Not yet anyway. And he would not recognize the prisoner. Common thieves where far too trivial to concern him, whether they did break in to his lab or not.

"I was not aware the laboratory was closed. My apologies. I was merely consulting an expert. This Viera is a specialist where mist is concerned. I thought she might be able to give a prognosis as to how much the ship can take."

The situation would have been salvageable. It really would, he thought, as his father nodded and turned to leave them. It would all have been alright, if not for Vayne Solidor. As Cid made towards the elevator, he remained. Eyes flickered over the hangar-deck searching for whoever Cid had spoken with.

"Doctor. Was that Venat? Does he have another name also?"

"What? No. Venat is not-"

He spun around in time to se Ffamran and Fran throw themselves behind the wing of the airship.

"Venat is not here. But," he continued, his voice light with inappropriate humour," It would appear we have some unwanted guests listening in on our little conversation."

"_What_?" Vayne spat, not the first to use that word tonight.

"Come out, son. And let's talk about that position of yours here in the lab," Cid called over to them.

Vayne made towards their hiding-place, but Cid's arm shot out and grabbed his collar. Ffamran no longer comprehended what was going on as he threw him back towards the ground. Nether, apparently, did Vayne.

"What the hell-"

"Stay there, and I will demonstrate the other uses of mist that you inquired about."

Next to him, behind the provisory shelter, Fran shook with rage.

"Come on. Let us flee while we still have the chance. You are not armed."

But she was beyond his words, as Cid began walking towards them. As he grew closer, what appeared to be a hazy flicker about him grew stronger also. It grew and grew until a blackness surrounded him. At first it was shapeless, but by the time he had reached them, a cloaked figure with fiery eyes towered up behind his father. It consumed him, emanated form him, possessed him.

So this was what Fran spoke of; hume greed indeed, if it had led his father to this. He stood.

"Father. My apologies. We where about to leave, and did not think you would appreciate our presence."

A gloved hand shot out and punched him in the stomach. As a barroom-brawl veteran he was used to taking punches. But this was no ordinary blow. Whatever that cloud of mist did to his father, it must have had some excellent side effects. He toppled over by the force and fell to the floor.

"Please," he breathed, begged. "Please, just... let us go."

Another hand descended. This one entirely made of flickering mist. It closed around his throat and crushed. His windpipe was closed off and he chocked for breath. His legs twitched uncontrollably, tears gathering from share pain. And in the midst of it all, he found no strength to fight back. The only thing he could think was 'Father, father... father'.

The world grew ever darker, as thought the mist, (Venat, he suddenly realized) filled it. Swallowed it. The last thing he should ever see was this darkness that had stolen his father from him.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Tenth part is up. The story is almost complete, but I hope you all enjoy what's left of it.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Final Fantasy XII.

Part ten

Through the hazy shade came a figure. A contour with fringy edges, that settled in his vision. He tried to focus on it as if watching gave him an anchor to consciousness. But it was not easy. The figure moved, hurtled hither and thither. It was without heed for his condition. He wanted to speak up. Tell it to stay still so that may see what it was. But no sound emanated from between his lips.

Then; a hard slap bore down on his cheek.

"Ffamran!"

It was as thought he'd forgotten to breath, and only the shock of the slap, the sharp yell, could startle him into drawing his first breath. It was shallow and shaky. As he gulped down big lungfuls of air, the word grew brighter. The shadow of Venat retreating.

… Venat… Cid, Fran. What was going on…?

Shaking his head, he struggled to focus. His mouth opened and closed like a fish on dry land, but slowly the world stopped spinning.

"Ffamran, please…"

He saw her clearly now. A shadow no longer, but plain as day. She was no longer hurtling, but held still in the grip of Cid's mighty hands. Strong fingers closing in on her lithe throat. Even thought she was lethal, she appeared so breakable in his touch.

Despite the crushing hands and lack of air, she kept whispering his name.

"Ffamran," she whispered. Over and over.

Why was she calling him? He could not comprehend. The answer where right there, right underneath the surface. But his mind was still too hazy and shaken by that darkness to understand what she wanted him to do.

Rolling about on the floor, struggling up on his knees, something hard protruded into his belly. Breaking Fran's intent stare, he gazed down slowly. A sword…. There was a sword hanging at his side, pressing unyieldingly into him.

Slowly something clicked into place.

"Ffamran…"

His hand flew to the hilt. Pushing himself upright (it was a struggle), he drew the sword. His arms and legs felt like all wobbly, but he manage to stay on his feet. He didn't quite know where to go from there, but standing seemed to be a good place to start.

Bracing himself, cursing the armor more than ever before, he lifted the sword to take his stance. He took the first precarious step, making an effort not to fall. The next question then, was where to attack.  
It seemed pointless going after a shadow, even if it had been able to strangle him. Cid was after all the one doing Fran damage, but still… he was unwilling to injure his father. However, if he did not decide soon Fran would surely die.

Another step. He made up his mind, directing his way towards Cid. The adrenaline that surged through his body made it easier to stand. In fact, the rush was so strong that he had trouble holding back.

A third step; he felt quite alright now. More than alright. He was angry. Raging, in fact. As he lifted the sword, his vision was covered by a red haze. Standing right in front of them both, his sword bore down without aim.

He could have hit Fran. He could have hit his father. Maybe he could even have killed them both. But Venat had more loyalty than he gave him credit for. As his sword came bearing down on them, the shadow filled his path once more.

If he'd thought a shadow could not be injured he was wrong. Well, perhaps not injured, but momentarily incapacitated. It crumpled, diminished, as his blade buried itself in the darkness that was his form. As the sword sank deeper and deeper in, he could spot the two others on the other side. Still pumped on adrenaline, he let his instincts lead the way and followed them through the lessened mist.

His blow to Venat proved one thing. If he had been unwilling to admit to it before, he now clearly saw the connection between the two. Just as Venat was unable to stop him, so was his father.  
His hands still rested on Fran's throat, but loose now. His head was slumped down on her shoulder, his labored breathing sending a gush of wind over her hair. It looked as thought the only thing keeping him upright was the Viera. She in turn, was trapped between his heavy frame and the shadow.  
As Ffamran stepped out of the shade, his first act was to remove the hands violating her perfect skin.

"Are you alright?"

She could only nod, still not able to speak from the strain. Yet that was the only outward sign that she had almost been choked to death. Once he'd given his father a thorough push so that he slumped to the hangar-deck, she straightened at once. Her posture was its usual upright, her face calm and collected.

The nod was enough for him. Though he sorely wanted to see them both to safety, there was another feeling growing just as strong. Could it be revenge, or perhaps years of pent up anger and frustration?  
He sidestepped the Viera and knelt down by the doctors limp body. Cid was awake. His body may have been incapacitated by the blow to Venat, but his eyelids fluttered in panic. They revealed a blatant fear for the son who sat beside him, taking his hand. He stared down at the man at his mercy.

'I just wanted you to hear me …' he thought. 'Surely that was not so much to ask? I just wanted you to look up and see me, your son. Not these invisible things, the secrets I can't partake in. I am my own person, but you are my father, and I am also your son. Surely that count for something?'

But he knew it didn't. There was no recognition of family bonds in his father's hateful stare. Well then, this would be it.

"I will be parting now. And you and I will never know one another again. I am no longer your son, and you are no longer my father."

He may have had a spark of hope that his words would hurt. That they would wound a father as much as the sharp blade of his sword. But once again he was mistaken. If there was a change of expression, it could only be of relief; he knew Ffamran would not kill him.

"But rest assured," he continued, "I will see to it that you face justice. You and that Vayne Solidor will pay for the crimes you have committed." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Remember, I am the judge. Not an assassin, not the doctor's son, but a bringer of justice. And believe me, I will see you pay, even if it should cost me my life."

At the edge of his vision he became aware of a turquoise light growing. It emanated from Fran. He turned his head, wincing at the pain he'd momentarily forgotten in his adrenaline fit. Round about her hands danced a bright light. Her slender fingers met as the light grew. It was a sleeping-spell. A strong one. It would put his father out for hours.

The turquoise mist burst and flowed about the figure on the floor, seeping into him. She could have conjured any spell. She could have killed him easily. But, Ffamran realized, she knew this was a battle between him and his father. It had lasted eighteen years, and would not be concluded so easily. So she put him to sleep. As Cid's eyes slid shut, Venat dissipated completely, now only a weak presence in the room.

Grateful for her understanding and presence, that he was not alone in this, he rose and put a hand to her shoulder. She turned her stoic features towards him, a shadow of a smile playing about her lips. She understood.

But in their state of grateful relief, they had both forgotten about Vayne.

Ffamran's mind was torn between making a quick getaway now or give her a kiss before they boarded the airship. As he settled on the last, leaning in to capture her lips with his, he was interrupted in the most unpleasant way.

No sharp blow to his stomach, no strangling hands around his neck, but a seeping, fleeting waive that froze his muscles. Before he knew it, he was unable to move. He must have appeared quite peculiar where he stood, frozen in the action of kissing her. His body leaned forward, his lips slightly pursed. She looked at him for a long second before understanding.

"I'm afraid you may never be able to practice that noble justice of yours," a slow, leering voice filled the quiet hangar. Vayne had reached them, using his techniques to paralyze him.

"I do of course not expect you, a sponger of your father's skill, or that fool Drace to understand. There are some sacrifices that simply need to be made. Killing my brothers was…for the greater good, if you will."

Another waive, this one directed at Fran. He could not see the attacker, but Vayne's smug triumph could be felt all in the air about him. He stared at Fran, at his friend, dreading the moment when she who was so full of life would freeze. And then what would come? His mind produced vivid images of his friend, bathed in her own blood, the light in her eyes fading. How she would look as her body gave in and she sank to the floor, bathed in the red river that was flowing from her chest.  
The thought conjured a livid rage, a burning anger that made him throw himself at the mental bonds that kept him still. But they would not yield.

As the waive hit and he expected to see his friend turned to marble, another light burst forth. It reflected the spell back at its caster. As Vayne's body froze, the spell that had held Ffamran let go. He was free.

He was about to turn to her, declare how magnificent she was, but was cut of.

"No more lingering. Come."

With that she drew him unceremoniously towards the airship. Not sparing a glance at his father or Vayne, he pushed the button and the door came down. They wasted no time in running inside, closing the door behind them.

Luckily Ffamran new the design of the ship. If not, he would not have been able to guide them through the first corridor, past the machine-room and into the cockpit. It was all sleek and elegant. The design perfect, he had no trouble owning up to that. And the empire really spared no money where technology and weapons where concerned.  
The problems hit first when they where seated in the cockpit, facing the multitudes of levers and buttons.

"If you recall, I inquired if you had any experience with airships?"

"I do," she nodded.

"And?" he encouraged her on.

"I don't."

"Ah… well, I suppose a little experimentation is in order."

With that he leaned forward and turned what he hoped was the upstart button. The hum of the engines and slight shake of his chair told him it was the right one.  
Pulling another lever, they shot forth out of the hangar.

***

The first thing to greet them once they had embarked was the radiating sun of an archadian summers day. The light stood in sharp contrast to the darkness of the hangar. But as the speed increased with the altitude, they embraced the light of day.

Shooting through the sky like a cannonball, the city underneath them passed in a blur. The cloudless sky was reflected off of the top of the tall buildings. Glittering surfaces and shining windows pierced their eyes when they dared look down.  
Ffamran had never seen his city from this far above. It truly was beautiful. Grand and jolting; the city that never slept. He would not miss it.

Quickly locating the maneuvering lever, he stayed clear of the other ships. It was hardly difficult. The speed of the ship far out won the others, and they shot up above them. There where no one faster. They owned the air. It gave him a pulsing thrill that only kissing the Viera next to him could mach.

But there was one more thing that needed to be done before his freedom was complete.

"Take this lever, will you," he commanded, while jumping out of his chair. "And hold her steady."

"Her? I was not aware that this machine was of the female gender," she said solemnly, while taking over the steering.

"It's a human tradition to name ships after women. Just hold her steady. Yes, like that."

As he spoke, he began to undress. First tearing of his cape, then shedding the gauntlets. As garment after garment came of, Fran slowly turned her gaze towards him.

"Ffamran, I do not think this is the appropriate moment to engage in-"

"No, no!" he cut her off, freezing with his chest plate halfway of. "It is simply that I cannot stand this armor. Relax, will you... And watch the sky!"

Fran turned and quickly changed course, just barely avoiding collision with a passing ship. Having shed his armor, only wearing the shirt and pants underneath (an altogether too simple attire for someone of his vanity. They would have to make a stop for new clothes soon), he returned to the controls. He felt a growing fondness for the machine already.

"So, what are we going to name her?"

He, who had hoped to call it 'Fran', of perhaps even 'Aurelia' after his mother, realized that this would not go to down well with his companion.

"Strahl," she said. It was no suggestion, but her decision and he was not to argue.

Sighing, he concurred. "Strahl, then. That is a good name. But what does it mean?"

"Speed," she explained, pointing to the city already far behind them, as if to illustrate her point.

"You will need a new name too."

"You don't like 'Ffamran'"

"I find it perfectly adequate. However, you are no longer the doctor's son. You have declared yourself fatherless, and need a new name to go with the change."

"I suppose that's true."

He sidestepped another ship, bringing the Strahl even higher. They shot through the sky, Archadies soon but a little dot on the horizon. He bright blue of the Phon Coast lay before them in a heartbeat. Glittering water and snow white beaches.

"Feel like taking a swim?"

"Vieras don't swim."

"Well, humes do."

But he didn't press his point, continuing on their steady course. They wouldn't have to stop there. They didn't have to stop anywhere (except at a marked. He sorely needed a new vest). They could travel Ivalice forever, he realized. Nothing holding them back or tying them down. No demanding fathers or tiresome duties, no prison cells or scaffolds. They where completely and utterly free.

"Alright then. Where to?"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** I had this story all planned out, but now it would seem it has a life of its own, and suddenly I find myself somewhere I had not planned. But no matter, I think this new direction on the story works. Hope you do to; here's the eleventh chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy XII. It is the property of Square Enix.

Part eleven

A week went past. Two weeks, a month. Ffamran did no longer bother counting the days, reveling in his life outside the law, duties and time.  
With Fran's aptitude for stealing, and his own talent for piloting their ship, they had at last settled on a profession; sky pirates.  
He had stumbled over the idea while at a bar, listening to the bar keeper's fantastic stories of pirate-life. Plenty of money, respect and women made it all that he had ever dreamed of.  
Soon he found Fran had been right in her warning, and that life as a pirate was not as romantic as he was led to believe. Still, the most important thing was that he was free.

Fran was incredibly patient with him, and he often found himself wondering at why she simply didn't leave him behind. For though he had saved her life, he had also endangered it enough times this past month for them to be even.  
She did seem charmed by him, like all women, but also often annoyed. His jokes, arrogance and sarcasm didn't go down well with her.  
Personally he frequently found himself at a loss of what to do. He was no master thief and knew very little of the world outside of the empire. Therefore she often had to guide him, teach him what to do. She didn't mind, but Ffamran felt like a burden, holding her back.

This insecurity, fear that she would leave him, was the only thing marring his newfound existence.

***

"Be quiet!"

Fran's shrill whisper echoed through the hall, but her warning was for naught. With the enhanced hearing of a Viera, she had been alerted to the pending arrival of the manors inhabitants sooner than him. But just as she told him to silence down his easy chatter, he had taken it upon himself to tumble down the stairs.

His expression morphed from triumph at their catch of coins and jewelries for the night, to one of surprise as the carpet began to slide underneath him. He did look slightly comical, grasping for the balustrade with waiving arms. But all humor was gone from the situation when the carpet gave way at last, sending him crashing down the staircase.

Bang after bang echoed through the hall for every step he fell. The chandelier chirred and the ornaments that covered every surface threatened to fall of their precarious placing on the shelves and tables. When at last at the bottom, he lay coughing and cursing in a bundle of carpet and limbs. It was the thus he presented himself to the family of nobles that stepped through their front door at that very moment.

"Oh shit!"

His head was ringing, the sound of the crashes somehow still chiming through his head. The word was spinning as Fran entered his vision. But the damned Viera wouldn't stand straight. She kept spinning to the left, rendering him queasy. Her arms descended towards him, grabbing hold of his hands. She somehow managed to pull him up to a standing position (or something to that effect), once more reminding him how strong, how superior she was. There must be more to a Viera, Ffamran reflected, than the rabbit ears that currently protruded into his face. They twitched, the soft hair scraping his chin. He recognized the angle in which they bent to be one of alert stress. Interpreting the ears was the only way of knowing for sure what she was feeling. As the world slowly came to a halt and he was once more able to stand on his own, he turned to see why a bunch of helpless nobles had that effect on her.

What he had first assumed to be a noble-family, he now saw was a noble family with two rather brawny body-guards. It was bad enough to be caught raiding a house. He still felt it was below his dignity. But a pirate's got to eat, right? Now, however, it was not so much a question of wounded pride, as managing to escape the Nalbina-dungeons.

The family of five nobles flanked with the guards all stood frozen in the doorway. The father did not seem so much taken aback by the two strangers standing in his hall, but rather the heavy sack of loot one was holding and the ornaments stern about the room. When he saw what had happened to his beloved handmade dalmascan carpet, he nearly swooned.

"Come," Fran whispered, her breath gushing across his face. He drew in the pleasing scent, before collecting his scrambled thoughts and turned on his heel to follow her out the back door. Unfortunately his limbs were not as quick as his thoughts. Still a little shaky from the tumble and with a rather painful right foot, their escape went terribly slow. Fran could have left him behind, taking their treasure and abandoned their glacial pace.

But she didn't. When the guards, whom Ffamran suspected were not the brightest of men, finally saw it fit to scuttle after them, Fran was still there. She most certainly took that whole partnership thing seriously. And that was good. If not, Ffamran would have been imprisoned long ago. But perhaps it would have been better of her to simply scram. Now it seemed as though they would both be thrown in the dungeon.

When the sentries reached them, Ffamran was still too impaired from the fall to be able to do much else than flail helplessly with his arms. It made him easy target for the man who was keen on proving his worth to the horrorstruck family that stood watching. The fist that planted itself in his gut wasn't exactly made of iron. In fact, he was surprisingly weak given his size. But even that feeble blow was enough to send him crashing to the floor.

From a rather awkward position, face down with the guard's knee between his shoulder blades, pressing him insistently into the ground, he could only watch as Fran was overtaken by the second guard.

She was stronger than most, with excellent reflexes. But still grasping the bag of loot, she had no means of warding off the fist that came bearing down on her.

Ffamran tried shouting out, but all that came out was a feeble sort of cough. That's when the guard decided to silence him down. He grabbed a fistful of Ffamran's hair, sending his forehead smashing against the marble tiles. The white stone was spattered with red, moisture trickling down his face. Blackness began to dance around the fringes of his vision before it spread, enveloping his mind like a blanket.

***

He awoke at dawn. In the moment of waking his thoughts came back to him. They were slow, tentative, as if scared to enter his consciousness; to end the moment caught between dreams and reality. The only time in the day when one thought clearly and at the same time bordered on insanity. His thoughts strayed to pink sun rays and Vieras, to bright scarlet's and cold blue's; a confused bundle of random ideas. The only thing that stood clearly, like a beacon to all else filling his mind, was his feelings; the joy of waking, of knowing life. It was a hovering, pensive pause that could only last for a moment. Then his mind reeled, collected itself, and he was once more present. Awake.

The awareness of a hard, uncomfortable ground became more and more insistent, until he finally gave up going back to sleep and opened his eyes. The sun that a moment ago had seemed like pink fog caressing his face, now projected into his eyes, causing black spots to pop up in his vision. It was not until he sat up that the events of last night came back to him. Well, what he assumed was last night. For though he could tell by the grayish pink light that emanated from the little window high above, that it was indeed dawn, there was no telling what day it was.

Taking a swift survey of his surroundings he found that he was alone, sitting on the floor of what was presumably a cell in the Nalbina dungeons. He had never been imprisoned before and quickly found that he did not particularity care for it. This past month had been filled with all sorts of firsts; his first successful robbery, his first unsuccessful robbery, his first unsavory hotel-room. And by his side through it all had been his first proper crush. Said crush that had now seen it fit to abandon him. No, he really didn't care for this "in captivity" thing.

Everything about this place seemed to be tainted with imprisonment. The walls, slimy and moist, the wood rotten and smelly, the light, the wonderful fresh light of dawn, contaminated by captivity. Even the air, dusty and thick with seedy smells. But worst of all was the state of Ffamran himself. Peering down at his clothing he found that his new, white shirt would probably never be completely white again. His black leather pants that he had exchanged the armor for were now gray with dust. Lifting a hand to his hair, he found sticky moisture coating his hair and face; a telltale sign of blood. He must look a fright. No wonder Fran had left him.

"You are awake I see."

As if summoned by his thoughts, she was suddenly there. Standing in the open doorway that led out to the labyrinth of cells she looked striking. It seemed as though things like dust or mud or even blood didn't stick to a Viera. It annoyed him, but not so much as to cancel out the relief of discovering she had not left him. He wondered at this feeling. What was he so afraid of, when she had never so much as indicated that she did not wish to be with him?

"I have looked around for an escape route."

She crossed the room, little puffs of dust stirring up at her every step. She came to a halt by his side, the dust cloud about her feet settling in his face. He couched irritably.

"Mind where you walk, woman!"

"Apologies," she muttered, taking a step back, upsetting the dust even more.

"I believe I have located someplace for us to exit this wretched place," she continued, ignoring his indignant spluttering.

"Already? This can't be much of a dungeon. I though the purpose of these things was to keep the prisoners inside."

"Hume and banga prisoners perhaps. There has yet to be created a cage that a Viera can not breach out of."

Ffamran got to his feet, brushing of the worst of the dirt.

"Well then by all means, my vieran friend. Lead the way."

"In a moment."

Her hand went to her hip, loosening the strings of the bag that hung there. A bag he had never before seen.

"I see you have been most productive, my dear. But might I hint that stealing from fellow prisoners might not make you very popular."

"It was necessary."

With that dismissive answer, she proceeded to moisten his handkerchief and dab the wet cloth in his face.

"What in Ivalice are you-"

"We might be in a dungeon surrounded by the worst scum the world has to offer. You would still alarm people, looking like that."

"Is that a compliment my dear?"

She gave him a disgusted stare, before removing the cloth from his face and pressing it into his hand in stead.

"Come."

"You know, there's no reason for you to be so short with me," he chided his companion as they made their way through the dungeon. When she didn't answer him, he walked sulkily in her wake, giving out rude comments to his fellow inmates.

"What are you staring at?" he snapped at a man who obviously liked what he saw. Then again, who could blame him? Those leather pants were after all quite snug. Ffamran picked up his pace, walking sidelong his partner in crime.

"Please, darling. I did not mean to be so discourteous."

"I am aware Ffamran. But," she added in a hushed voice. "Might I suggest you endeavor to be a bit more inconspicuous? We are, after all, trying to escape, and you are creating an awful lot of attention."

"Oh." He halted, looking around at the prisoners that all followed their little stroll intently with their eyes. "You're quite right as always."

They resumed walking. He followed her through the multitude of halls and cells, marveling at her sense of direction. Though this was the first dungeon he'd ever sat foot in, it seemed a most peculiar place to store prisoners. It must have been a magnificent building once upon a time. With its high roofed ceiling and intricate arcs, it really seemed a strange sort of place to let disintegrate, then to use it as storage for the seedy underbelly of Nalbina's townsfolk.  
Rounding yet another corner, Ffamran grew weary of their silence.

"You explored all this while I was asleep?"

"Ffamran, please be quiet."

"Oh, come. There is no one here at the moment. I cannot take it when you shut me out."

He knew she didn't like it when he got like that. Fran was most accepting with all his spoilt habits but his arrogant quibbling was something she couldn't stand. At least not when directed at her.

They were rounding yet another corner when Fran suddenly threw her arm out, alerted by those magnificent ears of hers. She pressed him up against the wall, the slimy wetness seeping into his shirt. He grunted in annoyance, but silenced down when she pressed herself up against him. It really was most aggravating, this whole crush-thing. He felt like a hormonal teenager again, blushing at every touch from this woman.  
And this was far more than a touch, but more like… dry humping, he though as she slid exquisitely against him. He sighed.

"Silence," she whispered. "There is someone around the corner, and I do not think they are prisoners."

"Then what?" he whispered, peeking around to see.

He felt his jaw drop at the sight of the person standing at the end of the hall. There was no mistaking that armor. It was Drace. Never expecting to lay eyes on her again, he felt the initial shock give way to joy.  
She stood by a door with a fellow judge, waiting for the lock-keeper to open it. They were apparently in deep conversation, and Ffamran wondered at them being here, in Nalbina. While the man fumbled with the keys, he strained his ears to overhear their conversation.

"….matched the description… no…. his son…"

He could not make out their words, but the sound of her voice brought with it an unexpected relief. The thought of what she must think of him had often plagued Ffamran. But now that she was here, he could explain to her why he had acted as he did. If only that other judge would leave.

"Fran," he mumbled in a hushed voice. "I know that woman. If only I could speak with her, I'm certain she would release us."

She was silent a little while before answering.

"I would not count on it."

"No really. We are close friends. I'm certain she would aid us."

"You cannot hear what they speak of?"

"…no"

"It would seem," she mumbled, turning her head away from the corner to look him straight in the eyes. "Judge Drace and Judge Goya are looking for us."

"What! Whatever for? The empire has no business here."

She silenced him down with a slender finger pressed against his lips.

Peering around the corner again he saw the man that had been checking him out walking up to the judges.

"Oh dear…" he muttered, fearing for the man's safety. Who the hell walked up to a judge anyway?

As he began to talk, Fran froze. With her marble frame pressed against him, he was painfully aware of her sudden lack of movement.

"What is it?"

"You really ought to have changed your name."

"Why?" Ffamran asked, thinking this was really not the time to resume that discussion.

"Because the man you snapped at heard it, and has now alerted the judges as to where we are."

Another peek around the corner. She had been quite right. Just as his face peered from out behind the wall, Drace turned, looking directly at him. He drew away quickly, but it was too late.

"I suppose you're right about the name. But I would suggest that we leave it for the moment and… _run_!"


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Sorry it has taken so long to update. Real Life had to take priority, but here it is at last. I know the chapter should be longer, considering the wait. Ffamran is a bit OOC in this one, and he still hasn't quite found his niche as the leading man. But the search continues in chapter twelve.

I hope the story hasn't gotten too drawn out. It isn't that much more to go now though. Promise!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy XII.

Part twelve

"Oh damn it all to hell," he muttered under his laboured breath, while rounding yet another corner. A few meters ahead of him, Fran still kept up a brisk pace, despite what must be six inch heels - and he was the one with the insensible shoe-choice. His strapless slippers, although most comfortable, were not at all suited for running on uneven ground. Or running at all, it would seem. When one of them was inadvertently kicked of there was no time to regain it. And so it happened that Ffamran ran through the Nalbina dungeons partially barefoot.

"Your vanity will be your demise," Fran chastised as she waited for him to catch up.

"Shut up, woman!" he breathed, a bit edgy as he finally reached her. "And will you slow down?"

"I do not think slowing down would be beneficial in an attempt to escape capture," she admonished.

"No. But it would be beneficial if you don't wish to abandon your partner."

They pelted down the next corridor, then another. Running head over heels, they were soon so far entangled in the labyrinth of cells and halls, that there was no knowing where they might be. Ffamran had lost his footwear long ago, and his feet were beginning to ache.

"Do... you think... think.... she's followed us?" he stuttered through every laboured breath. His knees were shaking with effort, perspiration glistening in his face. Fran allowed herself to slant slightly towards the wall, her cheeks lovely and flushed.

"I do not think so. I cannot hear her."

"She would probably make quite the racket in that armour," Ffamran agreed, recalling the never ending clanking of metal against metal.

"It would also slow her down considerably," Fran nodded.

Their conversation stilled as they both regained their breath. Ffamran, fighting his impulses, did not allow himself to slide down the wall and curl himself together in a ball of exhaustion and pending despair. But though his body screamed for a respite, he did not cave. He supposed he must have hardened during his short period as a judge and pirate.

"I wonder..." he muttered, wiping his hand across his brow to rid them of the sweat that had gathered there. "I wonder what Drace is doing here."

"Looking for you, it would seem."

"Yes, yes. I got that." He glared at her as soon as his sight was perspiration-free. "But why would she?"

It took a while for Fran to answer. Not because she didn't know but rather deliberating how to put it. The familiar feeling of inadequacy crept up on him, and for what felt like the thousand time he wondered why she hadn't just dumped him at the first aerodome they got to.

"There could be a number of things. Attacking the heir to the Empire and his loyal doctor for one."

"Forgive my banter, but did they not attack us?"

She gave him another exasperated look, twitching her ears in annoyance.

"I do not think that is the version they have been telling."

He shook his head, wiping his forehead again. Naturally she was right. But still, he though, sending a judge after him seemed a bit like overkill. He was after all the doctor's son.

"Come," he muttered and began walking down the corridor at a leisurely pace. "Where to now?"

"I do not know. That was the only exit I was able to find."

"Perhaps if we wait a while before returning? We might slip out if they have left to look elsewhere."

She nodded, halting again to take a sip of water. After having sated her thirst, she mutely handed him the sack of water. He grabbed it greedily.

"I am exceedingly grateful for your kleptomania."

He grinned at the responsive twitch of her ears before taking a hearty sip.

"You don't by chance happen to remember where we ran?"

"Naturally," she said, as if recalling their route through seemingly endless and identical corridors were no feat at all. He nodded lamely.

"Good."

***

The first thing he sensed as the world slowly began to manifest itself again, was a curtain of hair covering his face. Strands of white locks fluttered over his skin and tickled his nose for every breath he took. He shook his head tentatively, trying to rid his mind of the foggy sleepiness that still clouded it.

They had begun to make their slow way back to the place they'd bumped into Drace hours ago. Ffamran was fatigued, his feet hurting, though he'd found the slippers along the way back. Even Fran seemed tired after the hours on the move. They hadn't eaten for almost two days, and though his stomach had seized its loud rumbling and settled for more of a dull numbness, he could feel his energy draining rapidly.

That's when they'd decided to take a little rest. It was still daylight outside. They could spot the reddening sun-rays on the wall, shining through the topmost window. Fran had insisted that they'd better wait for darkness, so a little reprieve couldn't hurt.

With the jerky movements of stiff limbs and awkward touches, they settled up against the least slimy and moist part of the wall. Digging down in the dusty ground, mounds of sand gathering around his legs, he leaned up against his partner, letting her settle her head on his shoulder. It was reasonably comfortable, he thought.

He was still painfully self-conscious wherever Fran was concerned, and wished he had some of her nonchalance and ease. It was all the more difficult when he didn't quite know were they stood. He felt like a right prat for even just thinking it. Like a love-struck, confused and horny teen. But not knowing how to act or treat his companion made everything all the more difficult. Still, he was tiring of what was rapidly becoming a constant feeling of embarrassment. His exceedingly arrogant demeanour had always aided him in the past, and as he sat there with the Viera huddled up next to him, all too aware of her warmth and closeness, he decided that perhaps it was time to apply some of that famous Bunansa-arrogance were she was concerned.

With that comforting thought, the exhaustion that had been lurking all day finally pulled him under. Within minutes he was unconscious, floating in the bliss of his dreams. He was so out of it, someone could probably have snuck up and divested him of all his clothing and he wouldn't have noticed.

Luckily no one did. He would have been hard pressed salvaging his dignity if that had happened. When he finally awoke from a long slumber, he was fully clothed; his face bundled up in Fran's multitude of hair. It was completely dark, night having finally settled over Nalbina. Yet her hair somehow shone through the darkness. He wondered at its lightness and silky feel when Fran edged closer, almost squirming her way up into his lap.

Nuzzling his lips against her neck, he inhaled her scent hungrily, before recalling the decision about arrogance and aloofness that he'd sworn to. If anything would ever happen between them, he'd be the one in control, not being cajoled around by an unconscious Viera. He nudged her in the side, carefully but firmly, trying to wake her.

"Hmph?" she mumbled as she began squirming even more, slowly regaining her awareness.

"Good morning. Or should I say night?"

She lifted her head from his shoulder, eyes foggy with sleep. Her mouth was partly open, eyes staring at him in confusion, before realization slowly dawned on her face and she was fully awake.

"Good morning," she answered gravely, and eased out of his lap as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Certainly nothing to splutter or blush about. He followed her example, pretending as if nothing had happened.

"We should get going," he said, while using the wall as leverage to pull himself upright.

"Indeed."

She stood, and with a few hasty movements, she had conjured a light that flickered about her fingers and illuminated the corridor. He must really demand that she though him some of that magic, as he quickly discovered that it was exceedingly useful.

She moved past him, holding her hand high to light the path.

"It would appear we slept a considerable time."

"Yes," she nodded her agreement. "And yet they haven't found us. This is good news Ffamran."

"Mm," he mumbled, deciding he was in the mood for a little banter. "I though you said I would have to change my name."

"You do. But in the meantime your given name will have to suffice."

"Well that is very kind of you, Fran. I assume you have plenty of opinions as to my new name as well."

"I believe that must be your decision."

He sighed. Just when he needed her to butt in. Truth be told, he had no idea what to call himself. Though a name-change seemed appropriate as well as practical, he found it hard to divest himself of the one he had. It was his mother who had insisted he'd be called Ffamran, after her own father. Living his pirate-life in the sky (or in this case, dungeon), the name was all he had to remember her by.

"Well, this is a splendid opportunity to be creative. I always found Ffamran to be a bit dull," he said, knowing full well her thoughts on anything flashy or attention-drawing.

Her only answer was a low muttering in what he suspected was vieran, or whatever they called their language. Ffamran had noticed this about Fran, her tendency to switch back to her mother language whenever she got exasperated with something, which most of the time meant him.

"What was that, darling?"

But Fran must have decided that this was enough banter for one day, and increased her pace. He had to work to keep up with her. The corridors flew past as they had resorted to something close to running again. It didn't take long before they had once more reached the place were they'd last run into Drace.

He waited by the wall, letting Fran peer around the corner. She had extinguished the light as to not draw attention, but was still able to see through the night with those magnificent vieran eyes of hers. After a moment of scouting, she withdrew and turned to him. At least he assumed so judging from the sound of her movements. The only thing he was able to see through the darkness, was the pale moonlight that shone on the top of the wall and Fran's hair every time she shook her head.

"I believe our route is clear."

He felt warm fingers interlace with his own, as she grabbed his hand. After the initial twist in his gut at the feel of her hand in his, he gathered himself and let her lead him down the corridor.

He'd never quite understood were they were supposed to go from there. The judges had been standing by a massive door, but that was securely locked. They had no means of getting through, because even though Fran might be able to blast it open with a spell, guards were bound to be waiting on the other side. So she didn't halt by the door, but pulled him past further down until he suddenly felt his feet getting exceedingly wet, the splashing of water echoing between walls.

There was something exceptionally disguising about standing in the water of a dungeon. Vivid images of sewage and rats popped up in his mind and the thick darkness did nothing to dispel them. He suddenly wished beyond anything that he shared Fran's eyesight. Instead he would have to resort to asking her.

"Fran, where are we?" he whispered, his voice laced with apprehension.

"We are moving down the sewage canal. The open aria leads to a duct that will connect us to the sewage-system of the entire city."

She was perfectly matter-of-fact, seemingly unaffected by their surroundings.

"So you what you're saying is that we have to crawl through the Nalbina sewage system to get out of here?"

"Yes. Now be quiet," she clipped impatiently.

Suppressing a shudder, he let her lead him further into the depth of what he could only hope was water. At least the smell wasn't too bad.

"You know, sometimes I regret saving your hind," he muttered over the squeaking sounds of rats somewhere in the darkness. He clutched her hand tightly. If she let him go, he would be stranded there, wherever they where, waist deep in unknown fluids.

"Å ti stille, Balder, din prins. Hvorfor måtte det være den mest forfengelige og pysete av alle menn som reddet meg?"

"Don't be cross with me darling. I just think that escaping through the sewage system isn't exactly… desirable. And you know I don't understand a word you say when you keep chattering away in vieran," he admonished playfully, wondering at what she had said.

With that they walked in silence for a while, the only sound was the rippling of water as they gushed through it.

Ffamran felt he was finally getting used to both the thought and the sensation, feeling very proud of himself for not gagging at the images that had plastered themselves to his brain.

That was when he felt something slick slither across his leg and stomach. While jumping so the water around him splashed, he automatically squeezed down on Fran's hand in what had to be a bone-crushing grip, while yelping in surprise. They must have gotten quite far, because the echo that was thrown back at them told him that this was indeed no cramped corridor but a much larger aria. Ffamran presumed it to be some sort of crossroad for the sewage-canals. Again he felt the surge of helplessness and frustration that he wasn't able to see anything beyond the flicker of Fran's hair as she moved.

Then, as if the universe decided to grant his wish, the room was lit up with a splendid, bright light. The stark contrast of light against thick darkness, made his eyes water as he screwed them shut. There were really no way for him to be any more helpless, unable to see or do anything to defend them against this new obstacle. He simply stood there, cursing his own inadequacy when a familiar voice sounded from the far end of the room.

"You should have listened to your Vieran friend and stayed quiet," the voice of his former mentor echoed through the room. "But then again, you never really listened to anyone did you?"

Apprehension dawned when he felt Fran tug her hand sharply out of his. Still unable to see, he grasped about, blindly searching for her. But as the echo of Drace's voice silenced down, he heard the rustling and gushing of water as Fran made her hasty flight.

There he stood, hands still reached out in search for his companion. His eyes finally adjusted, however slowly, and the world once more manifested itself before him. As the stinging in his eyes subsided, he came to realize that he would have preferred the darkness. The light Drace had summoned, lit up the room and showed him its enormous expanse. The walls were even more greasy here then in the moderately dry dungeon. Leading out from every possible opening, was the canals that all met in this very room, one of which Fran had disappeared through. And so he stood there, hands still reaching out into the empty air, as he looked at the spot were he'd last held her. He had no eyes for Drace and her companion. Their eyes, however, were fixed on him, seemingly anticipation another escape attempt.

Ffamran, however, stood quite still, letting the feeling of betrayal and sewage water wash over him. A sickening numbness spread through his gut, his mind playing the same sentence over and over again. 'You knew she would leave you, you knew she would leave you.' As the voice went on, it grew harsher and harsher until he could take it no more.

"Shut up!" he shouted, letting his hands drop down, breaking through the still surface. He could hear the desperation in his own voice echo back from the walls.

"Then come with us. No more fuss," Drace answered. It took a moment before Ffamran realized she must have thought he'd spoken to her. He did not object to her presumption, but gave one last long look towards the canals, before turning to face his prosecutors.

**A/N: **Just for clarification, Fran's "vieran" is actually Norwegian. There will be an explanation later on. I decided to use that in stead of just making something up.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **I am so sorry it has taken this long to update, but I assume I'm not the only one swamped with exams at the moment. Still, in celebration of the pending vacation, I'm posting the next chapter. Hope you enjoy it, and have an excellent summer!

**Disclaimer: **Final Fantasy XII is the property of Square Enix.

Chapter thirteen

Ffamran was a rebel to the bone. At least that was how he considered himself. Defying his father and the laws he had once studied, Ffamran had uprooted himself to live a life of freedom in the sky. But he had to concede, while sitting shackled up in a chair, dripping sewage-water amongst other things, that he'd fallen for the romantic notion of this life, without really thinking it through. And now he was paying the price. Now he might get executed.

It was he who had decided they should be pirates. Fran, despite all her merits, was not very pragmatic. And piracy was the perfect combination of recklessness, freedom and a somewhat steady income to finance the two first demands. No, it hadn't been Fran's idea. It wasn't she who had committed treason by spying on Dr Cid, nor gotten them thrown in a dungeon. But neither was she shackled to a chair, stinking and soaked. She was not responsible for the crimes committed, but she had gone along with them. At least until their luck changed and they would have to pay the price.

'So much for partnership,' he thought bitterly. And now she had screwed him over. Thoroughly. No matter how much a liability he'd been to her, he didn't know if he had it in her to forgive her such a deceit. 'That backstabbing bitch.'

The rattling of keys, morphed his fuming over his former partner to downright dread.  
He didn't want to die, he didn't want his life to end. He didn't want to be reunited with his mother. Not yet. He wanted to live, to live, damnit!  
The thoughts wretched havoc in his mind, and he began tugging on his shackles in affect, fighting to keep his life. Thus Drace found him.

Framed by the ironclad doorway, his former mentor halted in her tracks, looking him over. The heavy door slid shut, sending echoes through the vast room. As the sounds died down, the echo was replaced by an uncomfortable silence. Drace was looking at him, he knew, but he couldn't make himself return her gaze. He should be staring her down, projecting his indignation trough his eyes. But the shame of it all caught up with him, and it was all he could do to stare at his hands that lay limp in his lap; tracing every line, the slender fingers and coloured rings adorning them, the steel grey iron that encased his wrists, digging into his flesh.

"So Ffamran," she said, finally breaking the silence, "caught at last. You know, I'm surprised you lasted this long."

Walking across the room to take her place in the chair opposite of his, her armour rattled all the way. Perhaps she was hoping to impress him. Intimidate him. It would not work, though. He knew. He knew how confining the armour was. He wasn't generous to spare her much sympathy though.

"So enlighten me," Drace continued while prying of her helmet. "How did you do it?"

How had he survived? The Strahl? His aptitude for stealing? His skills were abundant. Still, he was not street smart.

"Fran."

"The Viera?" Drace had never bothered to learn her name.

"Yes."

"I see... And where is she now?"

He didn't speak, but let his gaze drop down to his hands once more. Panic rose like waives. Fran had tried to teach him to be calm, collected, but had been altogether successful, he though bitterly, giving the chains another desperate tug.

But while the chains were relentless, Drace was obviously not. Her hard, inexorable expression melted away before his eyes. She didn't look kind, but there was a mildness to her that Ffamran though he'd never see again.

"This woman has cost you a great deal of trouble. And yet you still protect her..."

She let the sentence hang in the air, filling the silence with meaning.

"Ffamran," she whispered, and suddenly her hand was on his. Warm and ruff. In a moment of confusion he though she had stooped down to hold his hand. But from between her finger she produced a key. "This is not right." She then proceeded to uncuff him.

"May I ask what you are doing," he said once his hands were freed.

"I... I hardly know. But you have time and time again proven an infallible sense of justice and integrity... not, of course, counting this piracy-business."

His mind reeled, trying to catch up with the events that transpired.

"I am not certain I understand..."

Leaning back in her seat, Drace folded her hands over her stomach, letting her eyes wander the room. It was a closed cell of the dungeon, transformed into an interrogation room for the moment. She looked tired, he noted. Bags under her eyes, hectic spots in her cheeks. The sympathy that he'd held back on previously suddenly crashed forward. He felt terrible. Terrible for leaving her, betraying her, and most of all for being the cause of this exhausted and pained expression.

"I am most gracious." He inclined his head in gratitude. "But may I ask why you bothered to track me down, trace me down a sewage-canal, then to let me walk."

"Water?"

"What?"

Rummaging in her bag, she extracted a flask of water, extending it towards him.

"You must be very thirsty."

"I... Thank you," he said a little flustered, excepting the flask. "That is very kind of you."

She didn't answer, but stood up and began pacing the room.

"I hadn't made up my mind," she began, commencing on her explanation. "A part of me really wanted to exert the punishment the law require. But if nothing else, then I at least encouraged you to think for yourself. I can't blame you for that. Nor punish you for it."

"And I thank you for it," he said, not quite sure if he was mocking or being truthful. In fact she had taught him so much more. If it had not been for Drace, he might never had stood up to his father and Vayne and survived it.  
Then he recalled something. Vayne. Nearly dropping the flask in excitement, he grabbed on to the hard steel edge of the table between them.

"How is the investigation of Cid and Vayne going?"

"It... I have not had the opportunity to work on it further after you ran off," she said, slightly reprimanding, but also alarmed by his sudden intensity.

"Right..." he nodded, easing his grip on the table. "But as you might know, I stole an airship from Draklor. And while there, I and Fran... well, we noticed something."

Sitting up in the chair, Drace's eyes were no longer mild, but shining with intensity.

"What?" she cried.

Ffamran might not have succeeded as a sky-pirate. Or as a judge. Or even as a son. But through his life of intrigues he had learned some things. Like playing his cards carefully. Meeting her slightly crazed eyes, he could feel his panic settling, being replaced by the coolness that Fran had urged.

"First I need a guarantee," he began, lowering his voice. "I will tell you what I found out. Then you will release me."

Her eagerness morphed into anger.

"Damnit, Ffamran! You know I can't do that."

Quirking his eyebrow and tilting his head in the Ffamran Bunansa trademark expression, he gave her a sly smile.

"Well, then, perhaps I overpowered you? Maybe I, through no fault of yours, managed to escape? And you could return from the field to the Courtroom and resume your investigations."

He knew Drace actually wanted to do some good. He knew she wished to make a difference. And he knew that she was well aware that apprehending and convicting him would not accomplish that.

"Go on," she sighed, proving him correct.

Smiling, he began the explanation of the events that had transpired in the hangar of Draklor.

"Well, as Fran and I escaped, we ran into Cid and Vayne," he mumbled. "They were in the middle of a heated argument. And, well, lets just say, they more than confirmed your suspicions."

"So Vayne did kill his brothers?"

"Indeed," Ffamran nodded. "He did. And Cid was less than impressed by the way he'd covered up the crime."

"Well, that's understandable."

For a brief moment they grinned at each other, relishing in their triumph.

"But it's more than that. He doesn't fear prosecution, because the senate needs him now that our relations with Rozaria are so strained. The same goes for Cid. His mist-research is invaluable, and he's much further along than I anticipated."

He though of the black figure, rising out of his father's body. But how to explain it? He did not even know what it was himself. And in any case, what difference would it do to Drace's case? Despite having betrayed his father and cut all bonds to the man, there were still a lingering and unwanted sense of loyalty. There was something sinister about what had happened. Something that he did not want affiliated with himself. No, better not speak of it, he decided.

"But is there any proof?" Drace asked, not noticing his inner contemplations.

He shook his head.

"No, I'm afraid not. There are the notes on Cid's window, but they have nothing to do with the crime. But at least now you know for certain that you are correct."

She snorted in contempt.

"And what difference will that do?"

"Well, you might keep an eye on them. You have some pull in the senate. Make sure that they stay alert to Cid and Vayne."

She rose and began pacing the room again, clearly agitated. He knew what she was thinking of as she looked at him, the pained expression back in her face. She had been ready to let him go. She did like him, after all. But then he had revealed what he knew, and finally she had her evidence. An eyewitness. And all that remained before Vayne and Cid could be convicted would be his statement. A statement he couldn't very well give while on the run from those very same authorities. Now she would have to choose; him or the case.

"I'm sorry I could not be of more help," he muttered, standing as well. "But now I really most go."

Realization dawned then, as her hand flew to her scabbard. But his spell was already ready.

The sleep-spell that Fran had taught him, hit her full in the face, and a moment later she sank to the floor.

"Thank you, Fran," he mumbled as Drace's eyes slipped shut.

He could not decide on whether he should feel humiliated or pleased with his stroke of genius as he strode out of the room, his armour rustling noisily for every step he took. It was a little snug, but fit too well to have been designed for a woman. Nevertheless, he had to smile at his own slyness when the guards at the door jumped in salute.

After Drace had sunken into a deep slumber, he had hastily removed her armour and thrown it on as not to be recognized. It was as painful and confining as he remembered it. Still, he was proud of his own stroke of brilliance.

"Have you finished with the interrogations, Your Honour? Shall I escort you to the aerodome?"

With a face-splitting grin, he nodded and followed the Imperial guard.

What was next then, he contemplated, following the Imperial through the maze of corridors. He would take the airship, obviously. Then make his escape to Balfornheim Port and drink himself senseless as a celebration. But there was the question of Fran. And the Strahl. He was not a vindictive man, but... she would have to pay. He could only assume she had stolen their airship, and the thought made his stomach lurch uncomfortably. There was a certain humiliation at being fooled so thoroughly. Humiliation and anger. By the gods, he would make her pay.

His fuming kept him occupied, so much so that he hardly noticed where they were heading. The guard lead him, oblivious to his real identity, through the dungeon, ever closer to the pending freedom. The guard didn't dear speak to him, and that was a lucky thing. The moment he would be forced to open his mouth the charade would be up. Given that they didn't notice the sleeping Drace on the floor of the interrogation room before that.

He certainly hoped they didn't. As they passed by slimy walls, coughing at the dusty air that filled his helmet, he could for the first time appreciate the eagerness he felt in getting out.

"Your Honour," some prisoner cried from behind he's bars. Hand's stretched out towards him in desperate plea. Yes, he was certainly looking forward to getting out of here.  
But just as the prisoners fingers traced the heavy red and black cloak, a high-pitched whine sounded throughout the entire dungeon.

Despite being intent on getting past the clingy prisoner, Ffamran suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. Puffs of dust rose up and settled on his cloak, as panic mounted in new waives. The alarm had sounded, his game was up.

"Excuse me, You Honour. I must go. Will you find the way out?"

He nodded, feeling increasingly stupid. But apparently the guard didn't find his silence suspicious. He turned and galloped down towards the guard's quarters to receive instructions. The exit was within Ffamran's view now, and he wasted no time in resuming his escape. The guards at the door wouldn't hesitate in letting him out. If only the word of his escape didn't reach them first. And the sound of the alarm still echoed through the hall, reeling him up and increasing his panic. He could only repeat Fran's command to be calm over and over.

His eyes focused on the door, his mind intent on what hid behind it, there suddenly sounded an ominous growling over the alarm. As it grew louder and louder he suddenly recognized it as a huge engine. A moment after thinking this, the door was blasted inwards. He saw it as it happened, the door crumpling, the guards throwing themselves out of the way. Then his vision was filled with dust and settling debris.

Grey, swirling pebbles found their way into his helmet, and mouth, nose and eyes. Coughing and spitting, he tore the helm of. The game was up now, anyway. And no one would see him through this cloud of dust. Or so he thought.

"Ffamran!"

He should be calm, cold. Still repeating it over and over. But at the sound of his name, the effect dissipated, and he could feel elation rising in his chest.

"Fran?"

Squinting through the settling dust, he could make out a figure coming towards him. Grey in colour, but the contour was unmistakable. It grew larger, until it was standing right in front of him, hair swiping his face, strong, long fingers closing around his armoured wrist.

"I though you vowed never to wear an armour again," Fran reproached.

"Circumstances change."

"Come!"

He had no clue as to where they were going, or where the guards where. He let her guide him through the dust and wreckage of the explosion, concentrating on not stumbling over the debris that was scattered haphazardly all over the floor. Prisoners was screaming, wracking their bars, perhaps hoping to escape. Or maybe they were just scared. Then Fran stopped without warning, and he bumped into her. As he gathered himself, he saw for the first time what they had been running towards. The Strahl.

Understanding struck him then, and it all seemed so clear. Fran had escaped, run to the Strahl, then proceeded to blast the dungeon open with the mist canon in order to rescue him. She had not left him behind, and he had spent hours sulking over her for nothing.  
There was only one way to counter that sort of humiliation.

"Why Fran," he said in his best mocking voice. "Have you so little faith in me, that you think I need rescuing?"

Rolling her eyes, she pulled the entrance-lever and ran aboard. Not wanting to be captured for the second time that day, he followed her up the ramp. After slamming the entrance shut, he could feel the engines come to life with a low rumble. Then they were of.

He gave himself a few seconds to let the adrenaline settle, lying limply up against the wall, while Fran was in the cockpit arranging their escape. He had never before appreciated the rumbling of the mist-engine and the thrilling sensation in his gut whenever they would take a sharp turn, like he did now.

With effort he began prying of the armour, and soon he was stripped down to his usual attire. Making his way out into the cockpit, he could see the city far below them. It was a cloudless day and the sun shone straight in, glinting of every shiny surface, almost blinding him in its intensity.

Fran was sitting, casually laid back in one of the chairs, steering as if this was just another lazy and dull afternoon, living up to her own lesson on calmness. She spared him a brief glance as he entered. Perhaps no one else was able to notice the slight change in her expression, but Ffamran knew the elevation of her eyebrows meant that she was amused.

"You were saying that he had no need for rescue?" she grinned, while looking him over. He must look a fright, nothing else could bring such an expression of bliss to her normally expressionless face. And having spent a night and a day in sewage, dungeons and explosions, he felt justified in not looking his best.

"I believe most of this," he said, indicating his state of dress and hygiene, "can be attributed to your escape-plan."

Not that he wasn't grateful. But he would never tell her as much. He didn't have it in him to give those kinds of sentimental confessions. And he knew she dreaded to hear them. Still, he would have to show his appreciation of her in some other way than verbal sparring.

Stepping up to her chair, he bent over the back of it, locking the Strahl in on autopilot, headed for Balfornheim Port. That done, he swivelled her chair around so that they were properly face to face.

"Ffamran, please refrain from close contact until you have washed this ghastly smell away."

It sounded like a complaint, but the glint in her eyes revealed the challenge for what it was.

"Shut up and kiss me woman!"

Then he proceeded to show his gratitude in other ways than words.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** The fourteenth and last chapter! I am (once again) sorry for the late update. I'm in the middle of the process of moving, and haven't had much spare time. But this was the last wait anyway.

Thank you so much to everyone who have read the story, and especially commented! I hope you have enjoyed reading as much as I have enjoyed writing it!

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy XII is the property of Square Enix.

Part fourteen

The escape went smoothly from there on. There had not yet been built a ship that could mach the Strahl in speed, after all. It soared through the sky, the envy of every pirate, merchant and noble. As they made their way to the Balfornheim Port, gleeful at their escape, the bright desert sky slowly darkened.

Fran stood behind him, squinting out through the windshield, where the rain tapped distractingly against the glass. Though she was calm, instructing him of their whereabouts without a fuss, her hand's told her off. Her knuckles were white, muscles straining with effort of holding tight onto his chair. There was no need for panic though. He was a better pilot now, much better. And though there was a slight frenzy to the way his hands moved over the control-pane - pulling one lever, than another, easing out the pedal, bringing out the wheels, the Strahl eased down in the hangar with only a slight jolt as they hit the ground of Balfornheim Port.

The sky that had been an iridescent, bright blue when they left the desert, now had taken on a dark, heavy sort of atmosphere. A think layer of clouds spread itself over the Cerobi Steppe and all the way up to the Thicka Uplands. The usually sunny port had a decidedly less cheerful ambiance than usual, and stood in sharp contrast to their own cheerful disposition.

Ffamran punched yet another lever, and they could hear the soothing hum of engines dying down. Fran relinquished hold of his seat at last.

"I do think Jules is correct. Pilot lessons would do you good," Fran stated rather drily.

"Oh, come off it darling," he grinned, swiveling his chair towards her. "We landed without hitting the hangar-wall once."

She looked a strange mix of exasperation and amusement, shaking her head before waking away.

It was a rather small ship, the Strahl. Not like Odin or Leviathan or any of the Empire's other battleships. But for a sky-pirate it was perfect. Fran, who detested machines and engines of all shapes and sized, the woodland creature that she was, did not show the same aversion to this ship. Ffamran suspected it to be because it was fueled on Mist, rather than the more traditional, man-made stuff. After this short contemplation he grabbed the canvas-bag next to him and followed her out.

If the weather had seemed looming from the dry insides of the ship, it was positively dismal outside. Water gushed down, making them soaked and freezing in a matter of seconds. The hangar-roof closed, shutting the water out, but not before a generous amount of it had gathered in large ponds on the floor.

"See, it's in situations like these that one would want to have an extra set of clothes," Ffamran sulked. Fran had drastically cut down on his luggage, insisting that the only thing one needed for travel was a good weapon and some gil. This came from a creature that neither froze nor sweated, but Ffamran had begrudgingly found a way to acclimate.

"Som du maser, Balder," Fran muttered, her voice barely audible above the rain hammering on the hangar-roof. "Come, let us find a tavern to dry of. We will sell the loot later."

She made towards the door, her high heels echoing through the room. He followed, pondering what she'd said.

"You keep calling me that. Bal-… something. Does it mean anything in particular?"

She looked pensive for a moment, not answering his question before they were out in the aerodrome. The contrast to the dark and gloomy hangar was stark. Here candles twinkled by the wall, the large blue crystal lending a metallic shine to her hair. She tossed it, like she did when she was thinking, sending drops of water flying in every direction.

"Balder is the name of one of the Viera's gods," she said before walking onwards towards the exit.

"A god? Really? I was not aware that the Vieras had other gods than the rest of us…"

It seemed rather far fetched, not to worship the Occuria. Growing up in Archadies, the very notion of not believing was simply out of the question. But it seemed obvious now, that the secluded civilization would have their own gods, as well as culture. She was not a Hume, after all…

"A forest god," she replied.

"And why," he began, following her out into the street, "would you name me after a god?"

He was not as naïve as all that. While Fran liked him, he doubted she would ever think him comparable to a god. But if Fran gave an explanation for her reasoning, it could not be heard over the roaring of the wind and waives that came crashing in on the city. The weather was truly abysmal.

The cobblestone-streets were like rivers, the water washing away all the dust and garbage that had gathered. They now stood ankle-deep in dark and muddy water, feeling pieces of garbage brushing past their feet. There was a time when this would have been too much to cope with for Ffamran, but after the adventure down the sewage channel, a bit of muddy water didn't bother him.

"Come!" he yelled, walking downwards towards the main street.

On every side of them, people were packing up their bazaars in a hurry, running inside and shutting the windows. Some travelers, or sky pirates rather, were hurrying towards the closest bar or inn. Ffamran was looking forward to the generous portion of bourbon he would be treating himself too the moment he was on dryer ground.

They ran down the deserted main street, and then they were there. The town square stretched out before them. At the edge, where stone met water, the waves crashed in and broke over the railing. The boats docking there were in danger of being crushed between water and stone. A desperate sailor endeavored to tie his little wooden craft more properly.

Ffamran and Fran didn't waste any time in helping him, but hurried inside, shutting the door against the rain.

The room of the tavern was dimly lit and rather drafty. The large ocean-view windows had been bordered up, the room loosing considerable of its pleasant atmosphere. Still, it was packed, every table full with pirates and the like, all sipping their drinks, trying to dry up.

Ffamran led the way to the counter, securing them two vacant seats.

"So," he began as if there had been no break in their conversation. "Tell me more about this god."

The bar-wench came over, handing him two glasses and a bottle without asking. He eyed her with interest for a moment; the lacy bodice, the long hair, before his attentions turned to the drink at hand.

"He was a prince of the forest…" she began, slowly sipping her drink, "A rather… delicate man."

"Well, that is a bit of an overstatement," Ffamran defended himself in mock offence. "I mean to say, I may be accustomed to another standard, but delicate…"

"They myths say the prince was killed by a piece of mistletoe," she continued, her lips twitching in a smile. Ffamran didn't quite known what to say to this, so he shut his mouth and drank.

"Balther…?"

"Balder."

"I will never be able to pronounce that..."

They drank in silence, their clothes slowly drying up. Ffamran finally booked them a room. It was on the drafty top floor, the only rooms still available.

As they made their way up the staircase, Ffamran quite drunk by this point, stumbled and bumped into walls and staircases, making quite the racket. Fran could hold her liquor considerably better than him, and walked silently behind, helping him when needed.

Just as he stumbled yet again, acquainting himself with the chipped white painting of the bottom corner of a wall, a door flew open. He hadn't thought he'd made that much noise, but apparently the burly man in the doorway thought otherwise.

He stared at Ffamran's slumped frame in disgust, his heavy brows furrowing. Despite his shaggy appearance making him look like quite the brute, he clutched a thick book in one hand. He looked from Ffamran to Fran, seemingly realizing that there were together, although it didn't appear as if he understood why. Then again, even Ffamran was still a bit fuzzy on that.

"Will you make this drunken scum stop rambling 'bout the hall? Some of us are tryin' to work."

He brandished his book while he talked as if for extra emphasis. Fran, with her quiet aloofness, didn't respond, but walked over to Ffamran helping him up. They were about to commence on the last flight of stairs before the man in the doorway spoke again.

"Hey, Viera! What's that fellow's name?"

They turned in unison, staring at him. Though Ffamran found the question surprising, he was about to politely reply, until he spotted Fran's face, alert and tense.

"A Viera and a Hume," he continued, staring from the one 'till the other, "that's a rare duo."

"Your point man?" Fran asked, straightening up and looking as formidable as she able.

"No point. Just wondering what yer fellow's called, that all."

It was then Ffamran spotted what Fran must already have seen, making her so alert. On the wall inside the man's room, there was a notice board filled with hunts and bounties. Granted, he didn't possess the Viera's keen eyesight, but his green almond-shaped eyes were still sharp enough to see the poster with a picture of a blond Viera and a man with sandy-brown hair, featuring the title _Ffamran Mid Bunansa with Vieran companion_.

Why could they never get her name straight? He found it as somewhat of a hilarity that the Empire (who were surely the once to post this bounty) still hadn't bothered to figure out her name, even after they'd had her in custody. But his indignation on her behalf could wait. Through the inebriated fog that enveloped his thoughts, he sensed that in this case her lack of name would even be somewhat of an advantage.

"Balthier, from the Archadian engineers-guild. This is my Vieran bodyguard. At you service sir," he said improvising wildly, taking a little bow. "Was there something you wanted?"

As he had hoped, the man looked thoroughly confused, no longer sporting that suspicious scowl.

"Engineers-guild?"

"Indeed. This city have perhaps the biggest assembly of engines in all of Ivalice. Heaven for a mechanical engineer as myself."

His voice slipped into a slow, sly Nilbasse accent. Balthier, of the Archadian engineers-guild. Had that been the name Fran had used? Well, it didn't much matter.

"Never heard of Vieran bodyguards before…" the man muttered.

"Oh, there the latest thing in Archadies. Very rare thought," he said, chuckling slyly.

"Right, right," the man said, nodding. His head continued to bob up and down as he backed into the room, shutting the door.

"Bodyguard?" Fran said dryly, looking contemptuously at him.

Ffamran was turning, grinning proudly at his own quick wit.

"I believe we've found our cover. Balthier and his Vieran bodyguard."

"That is not the correct pronunciation," she said, continuing up the staircase.

"Well, it is my name henceforth. You know, bodyguard seems a bit much. Perhaps lackey would be a better title for you? People would ask less questions."

"Lackey?"

"Lackey, servant… minion…"

She opened their door, stepped inside and slammed it shut, cutting his rant short.

"Oh, come darling. I'm only teasing you."

He wrenched the door open, stepping inside.

"Alright, I went too far. My apologies," he said, shutting the door again. "But it's a fine cover."

"Well, you have a name now, at least."

"Right."

He stepped closer, pushing her gently down on the one, unsteady bed.

"You must be cold."

"Vierans do not freeze. As you well know."

"Perhaps you could warm me then?" he continued, quickly opening the clasps on his vest, throwing it on the floor. The shirt glued itself to his skin, the cloth seemingly stealing heat from his body.

"Nor does Vierans have elevated body heat. If anything, we're slightly cooler than Humes."

"You're pillow talk leaves something to be desired," he muttered sulkily.

She divested him of his shirt, running her hands over the goose bumps forming on his chest.

"I'd rather you be quiet," she whispered.

Before he could continue the playful banter, that experience proved could go on for quite some time, she kissed him. His lips, cold from their walk, stiff from the booze, were slightly uncompliant. The kissing was sloppy, slow, but somehow perfect in its way.

The water kept banging on the windows and roof, drowning out the sounds of the guests downstairs. The wind howled, seeping through cracks in the wall and carefully caressing his skin as he was divested of his clothes, piece by piece.

The warmth of her mouth, skin against skin, under the covers, seemed like a sanctuary against the roaring storm outside. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her cent; perfume free, fresh and entirely hers. She sighed into his ear, hers twitching in delight. The soft fur slid against his arms, his hands entangling in her long hair. It was spread out around her head like a halo, still dripping with water.

His kisses travelled; mouth, jaw, throat, chest, urged on by her sighs and twitching ears. He had been surprised at how easy they were together. He'd suspected that the sexual norm perhaps were a bit different for Vieras. After all, he knew little enough about their anatomy, and nothing of their culture. But when she had kissed him that first time, and every time since, it did not occur to him that she was not a Hume. She was simply Fran. When she kissed him like this, sighing, wrapping her long, slender legs around his waist, or indeed when she had demolished a prison with an airship to rescue him, it didn't much matter what she was. She liked him. Maybe even loved him. And he was all hers, in any case.

But Ffamran had never been much of a romantic. Not between the sheets anyway. When her legs slid up his sides, he felt a warmth unfurl in the pit of his stomach, and every movement got a bit less caressing, and a bit more hurried. Still, he whispered her name, over and over. Longingly, lovingly. There would be time for explorations later. Long, lazy days were they would never even get out of bed. But not today, he decided.

It was a thrill to discover he was stronger than her after all. He had thought for a moment that as with so much else, this was another aria in which the Viera was superior. But while that had been lending its own, strange sort of excitement, he was glad to finally be able to take the upper hand. Quite literally. To see her struggle, tugging at his arms, not being able to seize control.

They were an inelegant heap of limbs and warmth and soft compliant noises. When he pushed into her, and they began a fast and rhythmic movement, it was soon bordering on too warm, too good. And they both whispered and sighed, clutching one another.

"Balthier," she whispered. "Balthier, Balthier."

And the way the name flowed over her lips, the way her lips shaped around the word, he knew he was going to keep it.

This was what he had made for himself, he thought, as the warmth climbed and they tumbled over the edge, Fran still whispering his new name.

"Congratulations," Fran said, throwing down a leaflet on the control-panel. "You're bounty has gone up."

He picked it up, looking at the picture in distaste.

"The Archadians calligraphy-skills on the other hand, declines."

"For the number one wanted in all of Ivalice, it is surprising they don't put more effort into the posters," Fran agreed.

"Alright," Balthier muttered, turning the keys, punching the upstart button. "Where's next stop?"

"I would advice against Bhujerba."

"Ba'Gamman is still lurking around there?"

"You have many enemies Balthier," she said, taking her seat as the low hum of the engines filled the cockpit.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, dear. As long as you don't realize that you'd make far more money turning me in than keeping me around."

The Strahl took of, hanging suspended in the air for a moment before he slowly pulled the lever forward, making the airship shoot into the sky.

"Where to then?" she asked.

"Have you ever heard the stories of the dawn-shard?"

"The Magecite-stone of the Dynast king?" she said, looking at him alertly.

"That's the one. Dalmasca has fallen, and a new consul will now be reinstated."

She quirked her eyebrow in silent query.

"Vayne."

Her quizzical expression turned to anger, her amber eyes flashing.

"The stone, it can hardly be safe."

"Exactly. And that is why we're going to steal it."

She smiled at him, then turned her eyes to the clouds.

"To Rabanastre, then."

"To Rabanastre."

THE END

**A/N: **Just to clarify, as before, what goes for Vieran is actually Norwegian. The Balder-myth is not Vieran religion, but part of Norse mythology. I know, a bit weak explanation for his name-change, but that's how it turned out...


End file.
